Grass for His Pillow (19 page)

The brewery quieted around us, though its smell did not diminish. I listened to the sounds of the town, each one so familiar to me, I felt I could pinpoint the exact street, the exact house, it came from. The familiarity relaxed me, and my depression began to lift a little. The bell sounded from Daishoin, the nearest temple, for the evening prayers. I could picture the weathered building, the deep green darkness of its grove, the stone lanterns that marked the graves of the Otori lords and their retainers. I fell into a sort of waking dream in which I was walking among them.

Then Shigeru came to me again as if from out of a white mist, dripping with water and blood, his eyes burning black,
holding an unmistakable message for me. I snapped awake, shivering with cold.

Akio said, “Drink some wine, it'll steady your nerves.”

I shook my head, stood, and went through the limbering exercises the Tribe use until I was warm. Then I sat in meditation, trying to retain the heat, focusing my mind on the night's work, drawing together all my powers, knowing now how to do at will what I had once done by instinct.

From Daishoin the bell sounded. Midnight.

I heard Yuzuru approaching, and the door slid open. He beckoned to us and led us through the house to the outer gates. Here he alerted the guards and we went over the wall. One dog barked briefly but was silenced with a cuff.

It was pitch dark, the air icy, a raw wind blowing off the sea. On such a foul night no one was on the streets. We went silently to the riverbank and walked southeast toward the place where the rivers joined. The fish weir where I had often crossed to the other side lay exposed by the low tide. Just beyond it was Shigeru's house. On the near bank, boats were moored. We used to cross the river in them to his lands on the opposite side, the rice fields and farms, where he tried to teach me about agriculture and irrigation, crops, and coppices. And boats had brought the wood for the tearoom and the nightingale floor, listing low in the water with the sweet-smelling planks, freshly cut from the forests beyond the farms. Tonight it was too dark even to make out the mountain slopes where the trees had grown.

We crouched by the side of the narrow road and looked at the house. There were no lights visible, just the dim glow of a brazier from the guardroom at the gate. I could hear men and dogs
breathing deeply in sleep. The thought crossed my mind: They would not have slept so had Shigeru been alive. I was angry on his behalf, not least with myself.

Akio whispered, “You know what you have to do?”

I nodded.

“Go, then.”

We made no other plans. He simply sent me off as if I were a falcon or a hunting dog. I had a fair idea what his own plan was: when I returned with the records, he would take them—and I would be reported unfortunately killed by the guards, my body thrown into the river.

I crossed the street, went invisible, leaped over the wall, and dropped into the garden. Immediately the muffled song of the house enveloped me: the sighing of the wind in the trees, the murmur of the stream, the splash of the waterfall, the surge of the river as the tide began to flow. Sorrow swept over me. What was I doing returning here in the night like a thief? Almost unconsciously I let my face change, let my Otori look return.

The nightingale floor extended around the whole house, but it held no threat to me. Even in the dark I could still cross it without making it sing. On the farther side I climbed the wall to the window of the upper room—the same route the Tribe assassin, Shintaro, had taken over a year ago. At the top I listened. The room seemed empty.

The shutters were closed against the freezing night air, but they were not bolted, and it was easy to slide them apart enough to creep through. Inside it was barely any warmer and even darker. The room smelled musty and sour, as if it had been closed for a long time, as if no one sat there anymore save ghosts.

I could hear the household breathing and recognized the sleep of each one. But I could not place the one I needed to find: Ichiro. I stepped down the narrow staircase, knowing its favorite creaks as I knew my own hands. Once below I realized the house was not completely dark as it had appeared from the street. In the farthest room, the one Ichiro favored, a lamp was burning. I went quietly toward it. The paper screen was closed, but the lamp threw the shadow of the old man onto it. I slid open the door.

He raised his head and looked at me without surprise. He smiled sorrowfully and made a slight movement with his hand. “What can I do for you? You know I would do anything to bring you peace, but I am old. I have used the pen more than the sword.”

“Teacher,” I whispered. “It's me. Takeo.” I stepped into the room, slid the door closed behind me, and dropped to my knees before him.

He gave a shudder as if he had been asleep and just woken, or as if he had been in the world of the dead and been called back by the living. He grabbed my shoulders and pulled me toward him, into the lamplight. “Takeo? Can it really be you?” He ran his hands over my head, my limbs, as though fearing I were an apparition, tears trickling down his cheeks. Then he embraced me, cradling my head against his shoulder as if I were his long-lost son. I could feel his thin chest heaving.

He pulled back a little and gazed into my face. “I thought you were Shigeru. He often visits me at night. He stands there in the doorway. I know what he wants, but what can I do?” He wiped the tears away with his sleeve. “You've grown like him. It's quite uncanny. Where have you been all this time? We thought you, too, must have been murdered, except that every few weeks someone
comes to the house looking for you, so we assumed you were still alive.”

“I was hidden by the Tribe,” I said, wondering how much he knew of my background. “First in Yamagata, for the last two months in Matsue. I made a bargain with them. They kidnapped me at Inuyama but released me to go into the castle and bring Lord Shigeru out. In return I agreed to enter their service. You may not know that I am bound to them by blood.”

“Well, I'd assumed it,” Ichiro said. “Why else would Muto Kenji have turned up here?” He took my hand and pressed it with emotion. “Everyone knows the story of how you rescued Shigeru and slew Iida in revenge. I don't mind telling you, I always thought he was making a grave mistake adopting you, but you silenced all my misgivings and paid all your debts to him that night.”

“Not quite all. The Otori lords betrayed him to Iida and they are still unpunished.”

“Is that what you have come for? That would bring rest to his spirit.”

“No, I was sent by the Tribe. They believe Lord Shigeru kept records on them and they want to retrieve them.”

Ichiro smiled wryly. “He kept records of many things. I go through them every night. The Otori lords claim your adoption was not legal and that anyway you are probably dead, therefore Shigeru has no heirs and his lands must revert to the castle. I've been looking for more proof so that you may keep what is yours.” His voice became stronger and more urgent. “You must come back, Takeo. Half the clan will support you for what you did in Inuyama. Many suspect that Shigeru's uncles planned his death and are outraged by it. Come back and finish your revenge!”

Shigeru's presence was all around us. I expected him at any moment to walk into the room with his energetic step, his openhearted smile, and the dark eyes that looked so frank yet hid so much.

“I feel I must,” I said slowly. “I will have no peace unless I do. But the Tribe will certainly try to kill me if I desert them—more than try; they will not rest until they have succeeded.”

Ichiro took a deep breath. “I don't believe I have misjudged you,” he said. “If I have, you came prepared to kill me anyway. I am old, I am ready to move on. But I would like to see Shigeru's work finished. It's true, he did keep records on the Tribe. He believed no one could bring peace to the Middle Country while the Tribe were so strong, so he devoted himself to finding out all he could about them and he wrote it all down. He made sure no one knew what was in his records, not even me. He was extremely secretive, far more than anyone ever realized. He had to be; for ten years both Iida and his uncles had tried to get rid of him.”

“Can you give them to me?”

“I will not give them back to the Tribe,” he said. The lamp flickered, suddenly sending a crafty look across his face that I had never seen before. “I must get more oil or we'll be sitting in darkness. Let me wake Chiyo.”

“Better not,” I said, even though I would have loved to have seen the old woman who ran the house and treated me like a son. “I can't stay.”

“Did you come alone?”

I shook my head. “Kikuta Akio is waiting for me outside.”

“Is he dangerous?”

“He's almost certainly going to try to kill me. Especially if I
return to him empty-handed.” I was wondering what hour it was, what Akio was doing. The house's winter song was all around me. I did not want to leave it. My choices seemed to be narrowing. Ichiro would never hand the records over to the Tribe; I would never be able to kill him to get them. I took my knife from my sash, felt its familiar weight in my hand. “I should take my own life now.”

“Well, it would be one answer,” Ichiro said, and sniffed. “But not a very satisfactory one. I would then have two unquiet ghosts visiting me in the night. And Shigeru's murderers would go unpunished.”

The lamp spluttered. Ichiro stood. “I'll get more oil,” he muttered. I listened to him shuffling through the house and thought about Shigeru. How many nights would he have sat until late in this very room? Boxes of scrolls stood around me. As I gazed idly at them I suddenly remembered with complete clarity the wooden chest that I had carried up the slope as a gift for the abbot on the day we had visited the temple to see the Sesshu paintings. I thought I saw Shigeru smile at me.

When Ichiro had returned and fixed the lamp, he said, “Anyway, the records aren't here.”

“I know,” I said. “They are at Terayama.”

Ichiro grinned. “If you want my advice, even though you never took any notice of it in the past, go there. Go now, tonight. I'll give you money for the journey. They'll hide you for the winter. And from there you can plan your revenge on the Otori lords. That's what Shigeru wants.”

“It's what I want too. But I made a bargain with the Kikuta master. I am bound to the Tribe now by my word.”

“I think you swore allegiance to the Otori first,” Ichiro said. “Didn't Shigeru save your life before the Tribe had even heard of you?”

I nodded.

“And you said Akio would kill you? They have already broken faith with you. Can you get past him? Where is he?”

“I left him in the road outside. He could be anywhere now.”

“Well, you can hear him first, can't you? And what about those tricks you used to play on me? Always somewhere else when I thought you were studying.”

“Teacher . . .” I began. I was going to apologize but he waved me silent.

“I forgive you everything. It was not my teaching that enabled you to bring Shigeru out of Inuyama.”

He left the room again and came back with a small string of coins and some rice cakes wrapped in kelp. I had no carrying cloth or box to put them in, and anyway I was going to need both hands free. I tied the money into my loincloth beneath my clothes and put the rice cakes in my belt.

“Can you find the way?” he said, starting to fuss as he used to in the past over a shrine visit or some other outing.

“I think so.”

“I'll write you a letter to get you through the barrier. You're a servant of this household—it's what you look like—making arrangements for my visit to the temple next year. I'll meet you in Terayama when the snows melt. Wait for me there. Shigeru was in alliance with Arai. I don't know how things stand between you, but you should seek Arai's protection. He will be grateful for any information he can use against the Tribe.”

He took up the brush and wrote swiftly. “Can you still write?” he asked, without looking up.

“Not very skillfully.”

“You'll have all winter to practice.” He sealed the letter and stood. “By the way, what happened to Jato?”

“It came into my hands. It's being kept for me at Terayama.”

“Time to go back for it.” He smiled again and grumbled, “Chiyo's going to kill me for not waking her.”

I slipped the letter inside my clothes and we embraced.

“Some strange fate ties you to this house,” he said. “I believe it is a bond you cannot escape.” His voice broke and I saw he was close to tears again.

“I know it,” I whispered. “I will do everything you suggest.” I knew I could not give up this house and inheritance. They were mine. I would reclaim them. Everything Ichiro had said made perfect sense. I had to escape from the Tribe. Shigeru's records would protect me from them and give me bargaining power with Arai. If I could only get to Terayama . . .

I
left the house the same way I had come, out through the upstairs window, down the wall, and across the nightingale floor. It slept under my feet, but I vowed next time I walked on it I would make it sing. I did not scale the wall back into the street. Instead, I ran silently through the garden, went invisible, and, clinging like a spider to the stones, climbed through the opening where the stream flowed into the river. I dropped into the nearest boat, untied it, took up the oar that lay in the stern, and pushed off into the river.

The boat groaned slightly under my weight, and the current lapped more strongly at it. To my dismay the sky had cleared. It was much colder and, under the three-quarters moon, much brighter. I heard the thud of feet from the bank, sent my image back to the wall, and crouched low in the boat. But Akio was not deceived by my second self. He leaped from the wall as if he were flying. I went invisible again, even though I knew it was probably useless against
him, bounded from my boat, and flew low across the surface of the water into another of the boats that lay against the river wall. I scrabbled to undo its rope and pushed off with its oar. I saw Akio land and steady himself against the rocking of the craft; then he sprang and flew again as I split myself, left the second self in one boat, and leaped for the other. I felt the air shift as we passed each other. Controlling my fall, I dropped into my first boat, took up the oar, and began to scull faster than I ever had in my life. My second self faded as Akio grasped it, and I saw him prepare to leap again. There was no escape unless I went into the river. I drew my knife and as he landed stabbed at him with one hand. He moved with his usual speed and ducked easily under the knife. I had anticipated his move and caught him on the side of the head with the oar. He fell, stunned for a moment, while I, thrown off balance by the violent rocking of the boat, narrowly escaped tumbling overboard. I dropped the oar and clung to the wooden side. I did not want to go into the freezing water unless I took him with me and drowned him. As I slid to the other side of the boat Akio recovered. He leaped straight upward and came down on top of me. We fell together and he seized me by the throat.

I was still invisible but helpless, pinned under him like a carp on the cook's slab. I felt my vision blacken; then he loosened his grip slightly.

“You traitor,” he said. “Kenji warned us you would go back to the Otori in the end. I'm glad you did, because I've wanted you dead since the first time we met. You're going to pay now. For your insolence to the Kikuta, for my hand. And for Yuki.”

“Kill me,” I said, “as your family killed my father. You will never
escape our ghosts. You will be cursed and haunted till the day you die. You murdered your own kin.”

The boat moved beneath us drifting with the tide. If Akio had used his hands or knife then, I would not be telling this story. But he couldn't resist one last taunt. “Your child will be mine. I'll bring him up properly as a real Kikuta.” He shook me violently. “Show me your face,” he snarled. “I want to see your look when I tell you how I'll teach him to hate your memory. I want to watch you die.”

He leaned closer, his eyes searching for my face. The boat drifted into the path of the moon. As I saw its brightness I let visibility return and looked straight into his eyes. I saw what I wanted to find: the jealous hatred of me that clouded his judgment and weakened him.

He realized in a split second and tried to wrench his gaze away but the blow from the oar must have slowed his usual quickness and it was too late. He was already made dizzy by the encroaching Kikuta sleep. He slumped sideways, his eyelids flickering erratically as he fought it. The boat tipped and rocked. His own weight took him headfirst into the river.

The boat drifted on, faster now, carried by the swelling tide. In the moonlit road across the water I saw the body surface. It floated gently. I was not going to go back and finish him off. I hoped he'd drown or freeze to death but I left it to fate. I took up the oar and sculled the boat to the far shore.

By the time I got there I was shivering with cold. The first roosters were crowing and the moon was low in the sky. The grass on the bank was stiff with frost and stones and twigs gleamed white. I disturbed a sleeping heron and wondered if it was the one that
came to fish in Shigeru's garden. It flew off from the highest branches of the willow with the familiar clack of wings.

I was exhausted but far too wrought up to think of sleep, and anyway I had to keep moving to warm myself. I forced myself to a quick pace, following the narrow mountain road toward the southeast. The moon was bright and I knew the track. By daybreak I was over the first pass and on my way down to a small village. Hardly anyone was stirring, but an old woman was blowing up the embers in her hearth and she heated some soup for me in return for one of the coins. I complained to her about my senile old master sending me off on a wildgoose chase through the mountains to a remote temple. The winter would undoubtedly finish him off and I'd be stranded there.

She cackled and said, “You'll have to become a monk, then!”

“Not me. I like women too much.”

This pleased her, and she found some freshly pickled plums to add to my breakfast. When she saw my string of coins she wanted to give me lodging as well as food. Eating had brought the sleep demon closer, and I longed to lie down, but I was too afraid of being recognized and I already regretted I had said as much as I had to her. I might have left Akio in the river, but I knew how the river gives up its victims, both the living and the dead, and I feared his pursuit. I was not proud of my defection from the Tribe after I had sworn to obey them, and in the cold light of morning I was beginning to realize what the rest of my life would be like. I had made my choice to return to the Otori, but now I would never be free from the dread of assassination. An entire secret organization would be drawn up against me to punish me for my disloyalty. To slip
through their web, I had to move faster than any of their messengers would. And I had to get to Terayama before it began to snow.

The sky had turned the color of lead when I reached Tsuwano on the afternoon of the second day. My thoughts were all of my meeting there with Kaede and the sword-training session when I had fallen in love with her. Was her name already entered in the ledgers of the dead? Would I have to light candles for her now every year at the Festival of the Dead until I died? Would we be joined in the afterworld, or were we condemned never to meet again either in life or in death? Grief and shame gnawed at me. She had said, “I only feel safe with you,” and I had abandoned her. If fate were to be kind and she were to come into my hands again, I would never let her go.

I regretted bitterly my decision to go with the Tribe, and I went over the reasons behind my choice many times. I believed I had made a bargain with them and my life was forfeit to them—that was one thing. But beyond that I blamed my own vanity. I had wanted to know and develop the side of my character that came from my father, from the Kikuta, from the Tribe: the dark inheritance that gave me skills I was proud of. I had responded eagerly and willingly to their seduction, the mixture of flattery, understanding, and brutality with which they had used and manipulated me. I wondered how much chance I had to get away from them.

My thoughts went round and round in circles. I was walking in a kind of daze. I'd slept a little in the middle of the day in a hollow off the side of the road, but the cold woke me. The only way to stay warm was to keep walking. I skirted the town and, descending through the pass, picked up the road again near the river. The
current had subsided from the full flood caused by the storms that had delayed us in Tsuwano, and the banks had been mended, but the bridge here, a wooden one, was still in ruins. I paid a boatman to take me across. No one else was traveling so late; I was his last customer. I felt he was eyeing me curiously but he did not speak to me. I could not place him as Tribe but he made me uneasy. He dropped me on the other side and I walked quickly away. When I turned at the corner of the road, he was still watching me. I made a movement with my head but he did not acknowledge it.

It was colder than ever, the air dank and icy. I was already regretting that I had not found shelter for the night. If I was caught by a blizzard before the next town, I stood little chance of surviving. Yamagata was still several days away. There would be a post station at the fief border, but, despite Ichiro's letter and my disguise as a servant, I did not want to spend the night there—too many curious people, too many guards. I didn't know what to do, so I kept walking.

Night fell. Even with my Tribe-trained eyes it was hard to see the road. Twice I wandered off it and had to retrace my steps. Once I stumbled into some sort of hole or ditch with water at the bottom, soaking my legs up to the knees. The wind howled and strange sounds came from the woods, reminding me of legends of monsters and goblins and making me think the dead walked behind me.

By the time the sky began to pale in the east, I was frozen to the bone and shivering uncontrollably. I was glad to see the dawn but it gave no relief from the bitter cold. Instead it just brought home to me how alone I was. For the first time the idea crept insidiously into my head that if the fief border was manned by Arai's men, I
would give myself up to them. They would take me to Arai, but first they would surely give me something hot to drink. They would sit me down inside by the fire and make tea for me. I became obsessed by the thought of that tea. I could feel the heat of the steam on my face, the warmth of the bowl in my hands. I was so obsessed by it that I did not notice someone walking behind me.

I was aware suddenly of a presence at my back. I turned, astonished that I had not heard the footfall on the road, had not even heard breathing. I was amazed, even frightened, at my apparent loss of hearing. It was as though this traveler had fallen from the sky or walked above the ground as the dead do. Then I knew that either exhaustion had unhinged my mind or I was indeed seeing a ghost, for the man walking just behind me was the outcast Jo-An, who I thought had been tortured to death by Arai's men in Yamagata.

So great was the shock, I thought I would faint. The blood rushed from my head, making me stagger. Jo-An grabbed me as I fell, his hands seeming real enough, strong and solid, smelling of the tannery. Earth and sky turned around me and black spots darkened my sight. He lowered me to the ground and pushed my head between my knees. Something was roaring in my ears, deafening me. I crouched like that, his hands holding my head, until the roaring lessened and the dark receded from my vision. I stared at the ground. The grass was rimed by frost, and tiny particles of black ice lay between each stone. The wind howled in the cedars. Apart from that, the only sound was my teeth chattering.

Jo-An spoke. There was no doubt; it was his voice. “Forgive me, lord. I startled you. I didn't mean to alarm you.”

“They told me you were dead. I didn't know if you were a living being or a ghost.”

“Well, I might have died for a while,” he whispered. “Arai's men thought so and threw my body out in the marshland. But the Secret God had other plans for me and sent me back to this world. My work here is not yet done.”

I lifted my head carefully and looked at him. He had a new scar, not long healed, from nose to ear, and several teeth missing. I took his wrist and brought his hand round so I could see it. The nails were gone, the fingers clubbed and twisted.

“I should be asking your forgiveness,” I said, sickened.

“Nothing happens to us that is not planned by God,” he replied.

I wondered why any god's plans had to include torture, but I did not say this to Jo-An. Instead I asked, “How did you find me?”

“The boatman came to me and told me he had ferried someone he thought was you across the river. I've been waiting for word of you. I knew you would come back.” He took up the bundle he'd placed by the side of the road and began to untie it. “The prophecy has to be fulfilled, after all.”

“What prophecy?” I remembered that Kenji's wife had called him the lunatic.

He didn't answer. He took two small millet cakes from the cloth, prayed over them, and gave one to me.

“You are always feeding me,” I said. “I don't think I can eat.”

“Drink, then,” Jo-An said and handed me a rough bamboo flask. I wasn't sure about drinking, either, but I thought it might warm me. As soon as the liquor hit my stomach the darkness came roaring back, and I vomited several times so hard I was racked by violent shuddering.

Jo-An clicked his tongue as you would to a horse or an ox. He had the patient touch of a man used to dealing with animals, though of course he dealt with them at the moment of their death and then, afterward, flayed their corpses. When I could speak again I said through chattering teeth, “I must keep moving.”

“Where are you heading?” he asked.

“Terayama. I'll spend the winter there.”

“Well,” he said, and fell into one of his familiar silences. He was praying, listening to some inner voice that would tell him what to do. “It's good,” he said finally. “We'll go over the mountain. If you go by road they'll stop you at the barrier, and anyway it will take too long; it will snow before you get to Yamagata.”

“Over the mountain?” I looked up at the jagged peaks that stretched away to the northeast. The road from Tsuwano to Yamagata skirted around their foot, but Terayama itself lay directly behind them. Around the range the clouds hung low and gray, with the dull damp sheen that presages snow.