Shogun (96 page)

“Yes—yes,” she said breathlessly. Her face was daubed with mud. Her kimono was ripped and filthy. Both sandals and one tabi were missing. And her parasol. He helped her away from the lip. She was still numbed.

Then he looked at Toranaga. “
Ikaga desu ka?”

Toranaga was unable to speak, his chest grinding, his arms and legs raw with abrasions. He pointed. The fissure which had almost swallowed him now was just a narrow ditch in the soil. Northward the ditch yawned into a ravine again but it was not as wide as it once had been, nor as deep.

Blackthorne shrugged. “
Karma.”

Toranaga belched loudly, then hawked and spat and belched again. This helped his voice to work and a torrent of abuse poured over the ditch, his blunt fingers stabbed at it, and though Blackthorne could not understand all the words, Toranaga was clearly saying as a Japanese would, “The pox on the
karma
, the pox on the quake, the pox on the ditch—I’ve lost my swords and the pox on that!”

Blackthorne burst into laughter, his relief at being alive and the stupidity of it all consuming him. A moment, then Toranaga laughed too, and their hilarity swept into Mariko.

Toranaga got to his feet. Gingerly. Then, warmed by the joy of life, he began clowning on the ditch, burlesquing himself and the quake. He stopped and beckoned Blackthorne to join him and straddled the ditch, opened his loincloth and, laughter taking him again, told Blackthorne to do the same. Blackthorne obeyed and both men tried to urinate into the ditch. But nothing came, not even a dribble. They tried very hard, which increased their laughter and blocked them even more. At length they succeeded and Blackthorne sat down to collect his strength, leaning back on his hands. When he had recovered a little he turned to Mariko. “Is the earthquake over for good, Mariko-san?”

“Until the next shock, yes.” She continued to brush the mud off her hands and kimono.

“Is it always like that?”

“No. Sometimes it’s very slight. Sometimes there’s another series of shocks after a stick of time or a day or half a stick or half a day. Sometimes there’s only one shock—you never know, Anjin-san. It’s over until it begins again.
Karma, neh?”

Guards were watching them without moving, waiting for Toranaga’s order. To the north fires were raging in the crude lean-to bivouac. Samurai were fighting the fires and digging at the rock avalanche to find the buried. To the east, Yabu, Omi, and Buntaro stood with other guards beside the far end of the fissure, untouched except for bruises, also waiting to be summoned. Igurashi had vanished. The earth had gorged on him.

Blackthorne let himself drift. His self-contempt had vanished and he felt utterly serene and whole. Now his mind dwelt proudly on being samurai, and going to Yedo, and his ship, and war, and the Black Ship, and back to samurai again. He glanced at Toranaga and would have liked to ask him a dozen questions, but he noticed that the
daimyo
was lost in his own thoughts and he knew it would be impolite to disturb him. There’s plenty of time, he thought contentedly, and looked over at Mariko. She was tending her hair and face, so he did not watch. He lay full length and looked up at the sky, the earth feeling warm on his back, waiting patiently.

Toranaga spoke, serious now. “
Domo
, Anjin-san,
neh? Domo.”

“
Dozo
, Toranaga-sama.
Nané mo. Hombun, neh?”
Please, Tora-naga-sama, it was nothing. Duty.

Then, not knowing enough words and wanting it accurate, Blackthorne said, “Mariko-san, would you explain for me: I seem to understand now what you meant and Lord Toranaga meant about
karma
and the stupidity of worrying about what
is
. A lot seems clearer. I don’t know why—perhaps it’s because I’ve never been so terrified, maybe that’s cleaned my head, but I seem to think clearer. It’s—well, like Old Gardener. Yes, that was all my fault and I’m truly sorry, but that was a mistake, not a deliberate choice on my part. It
is
. So nothing can be done about it. A moment ago we were all almost dead. So all that worry and heartache was a waste, wasn’t it?
Karma
. Yes, I know
karma
now. Do you understand?”

“Yes.” She translated to Toranaga.

“He says, ‘Good, Anjin-san.
Karma
is the beginning of knowledge. Next is patience. Patience is very important. The strong are the patient ones, Anjin-san. Patience means holding back your inclination to the seven emotions: hate, adoration, joy, anxiety, anger, grief, fear. If you don’t give way to the seven, you’re
patient
, then you’ll soon understand all manner of things and be in harmony with Eternity.’”

“You believe that, Mariko-san?”

“Yes. Very much. I try, also, to be patient, but it’s hard.”

“I agree. That’s also
wa
, your harmony, your ‘tranquillity,’
neh?”

“Yes.”

“Tell him I thank him truly for what he did for Old Gardener. I didn’t before, not from my heart. Tell him that.”

“There’s no need, Anjin-san. He knew before that you were just being polite.”

“How did he know?”

“I told you he is the wisest man in the world.”

He grinned.

“There,” she said, “your age has fallen off you again,” and added in Latin, “Thou art thyself again, and better than before!”

“But thou art beautiful, as always.”

Her eyes warmed and she averted them from Toranaga. Blackthorne saw this and marked her caution. He got to his feet and stared down into the jagged cleft. Carefully he jumped into it and disappeared.

Mariko scrambled up, momentarily afraid, but Blackthorne quickly came back to the surface. In his hands was Fujiko’s sword. It was still scabbarded, though muddied and scarred. His short stabbing sword had disappeared.

He knelt in front of Toranaga and offered his sword as a sword should be offered. “
Dozo
, Toranaga-sama,” he said simply. “
Kara
samurai
ni
samurai,
neh?”
Please, Lord Toranaga, from a samurai to a samurai, eh?

“
Domo
, Anjin-san.” The Lord of the Kwanto accepted the sword and shoved it into his sash. Then he smiled, leaned forward, and clapped Blackthorne once on the shoulder, hard. “
Tomo, neh?”
Friend, eh?

“
Domo
.” Blackthorne glanced away. His smile faded. A cloud of smoke was drifting over the rise above where the village would be. At once he asked Toranaga if he could leave, to make sure Fujiko was all right.

“He says, yes, Anjin-san. And we are to see him at the fortress at sunset for the evening meal. There are some things he wishes to discuss with you.”

Blackthorne went back to the village. It was devastated, the course of the road bent out of recognition, the surface shattered. But the boats were safe. Many fires still burned. Villagers were carrying buckets of sand and buckets of water. He turned the corner. Omi’s house was tilted drunkenly on its side. His own was a burnt-out ruin.

Fujiko had been injured. Nigatsu, her maid, was dead. The first shock had collapsed the central pillars of the house, scattering the coals of the kitchen fire. Fujiko and Nigatsu had been trapped by one of the fallen beams and the flames had turned Nigatsu into a torch. Fujiko had been pulled free. One of the cook’s children had also been killed, but the rest of his servants had suffered only bruises and some twisted limbs. They all were overjoyed to find that Blackthorne was alive and unhurt.

Fujiko was lying on a salvaged futon near the undamaged garden fence, half conscious. When she saw also that Blackthorne was unscathed she almost wept. “I thank Buddha you’re not hurt, Anjin-san,” she said weakly.

Still partially in shock, she tried to get up but he bade her not to move. Her legs and lower back were badly burned. A doctor was already tending her, wrapping bandages soaked in cha and other herbs around her limbs to soothe them. Blackthorne hid his concern and waited until the doctor had finished, then said privately, “Fujiko-san,
yoi ka?”
Lady Fujiko will be all right?

The doctor shrugged. “
Hai.”
His lips came back from his protruding teeth again. “
Karma, neh?”

“Hai.”
Blackthorne had seen enough burned seamen die to know that any bad burn was dangerous, the open wound almost always rotting within a few days and nothing to stop the infection spreading. “I don’t want her to die.”

“
Dozo?”

He said it in Japanese and the doctor shook his head and told him that the Lady would surely be all right. She was young and strong.

“
Shigata ga nai,”
the doctor said and ordered maids to keep her bandages moist, gave Blackthorne herbs for his own abrasions, told him he would return soon, then scuttled up the hill toward Omi’s wrecked house above.

Blackthorne stood at his main gate, which was unharmed. Buntaro’s arrows were still embedded in the left post. Absently he touched one.
Karma
that she was burned, he thought sadly.

He went back to Fujiko and ordered a maid to bring cha. He helped
her to drink and held her hand until she slept, or appeared to sleep. His servants were salvaging whatever they could, working quickly, helped by a few villagers. They knew the rains would be coming soon. Four men were trying to erect a temporary shelter.

“
Dozo
, Anjin-san.” The cook was offering him fresh tea, trying to keep the misery off his face. The little girl had been his favorite daughter.

“
Domo,”
Blackthorne replied. “
Sumimasen.”
I’m sorry.

“
Arigato
, Anjin-san.
Karma, neh?”

Blackthorne nodded, accepted the tea, and pretended not to notice the cook’s grief, lest he shame him. Later a samurai came up the hill bringing word from Toranaga that Blackthorne and Fujiko were to sleep in the fortress until the house was rebuilt. Two palanquins arrived. Blackthorne lifted her gently into one of them and sent her with maids. He dismissed his own palanquin, telling her he’d follow soon.

The rain began but he paid it no heed. He sat on a stone in the garden that had given him so much pleasure. Now it was a shambles. The little bridge was broken, the pond shattered, and the streamlet had vanished.

“Never mind,” he said to no one. “The rocks aren’t dead.”

Ueki-ya had told him that a garden must be settled around its rocks, that without them a garden is empty, merely a place of growing.

One of the rocks was jagged and ordinary but Ueki-ya had planted it so that if you looked at it long and hard near sunset, the reddish glow glinting off the veins and crystal buried within, you could see a whole range of mountains with lingering valleys and deep lakes and, far off, a greening horizon, night gathering there.

Blackthorne touched the rock. “I name you Ueki-ya-sama,” he said. This pleased him and he knew that if Ueki-ya were alive, the old man would have been very pleased also. Even though he’s dead, perhaps he’ll know, Blackthorne told himself, perhaps his
kami
is here now. Shintoists believed that when they died they became a
kami
….

‘What is a
kami
, Mariko-san?’

‘Kami
is inexplicable, Anjin-san. It is like a spirit but not, like a soul but not. Perhaps it is the insubstantial essence of a thing or person … you should know a human becomes a
kami
after death but a tree or rock or plant or painting is equally a
kami. Kami
are venerated, never worshiped. They exist between heaven
and earth and visit this Land of the Gods or leave it, all at the same time.’

‘And Shinto? What’s Shinto?’

‘Ah, that is inexplicable too, so sorry. It’s like a religion, but isn’t. At first it even had no name—we only called it Shinto, the Way of the
Kami
, a thousand years ago, to distinguish it from Butsudo, the Way of Buddha. But though it’s indefinable Shinto is the essence of Japan and the Japanese, and though it possesses neither theology nor godhead nor faith nor system of ethics, it is our justification for existence. Shinto is a nature cult of myths and legends in which no one believes wholeheartedly, yet everyone venerates totally. A person
is
Shinto in the same way he is
born
Japanese.’

‘Are you Shinto too—as well as Christian?’

‘Oh yes, oh very yes, of course….’

Blackthorne touched the stone again. “Please,
kami
of Ueki-ya, please stay in my garden.”

Then, careless of the rain, he let his eyes take him into the rock, past the lush valleys and serene lake and to the greening horizon, darkness gathering there.

His ears told him to come back. He looked up. Omi was watching him, squatting patiently on his haunches. It was still raining and Omi wore a newly pressed kimono under his rice-straw raincoat, and a wide, conical bamboo hat. His hair was freshly shampooed.

“
Karma
, Anjin-san,” he said, motioning at the smoldering ruins.

“
Hai. Ikaga desu ka?”
Blackthorne wiped the rain off his face.

“
Yoi.”
Omi pointed up at his house. “
Watakushi no yuya wa hakaisarete imasen ostukai ni narimasen-ka?”
My bath wasn’t damaged. Would you care to use it?

“
Ah so desu! Domo
, Omi-san,
hai, domo.”
Gratefully Blackthorne followed Omi up the winding path, into his courtyard. Servants and village artisans under Mura’s supervision were already hammering and sawing and repairing. The central posts were already back in place and the roof almost resettled.

With signs and simple words and much patience, Omi explained that his servants had managed to douse the fires in time. Within a day or two, he told Blackthorne, the house would be up again, as good as it was, so not to worry. Yours will take longer, a week, Anjin-san. Don’t worry, Fujiko-san is a fine manager. She’ll have
all costs arranged with Mura in no time and your house’ll be better than ever. I hear she was burned? Well, this happens sometimes, but not to worry, our doctors are very expert with burns—they have to be,
neh?
Yes, Anjin-san, it was a bad quake, but not that bad. The rice fields were hardly touched and the so essential irrigation system was undamaged. And the boats weren’t damaged and that’s very important too. Only a hundred and fifty-four samurai were killed in the avalanche, that’s not many,
neh?
As to the village, a week and you’ll hardly know there was a quake. Five peasants were killed and a few children—nothing! Anjiro was very lucky,
neh?
I hear you pulled Toranaga-sama out of a death trap. We’re all grateful to you, Anjin-san. Very. If we’d lost him … Lord Toranaga said he accepted your sword—you’re lucky, that’s a great honor. Yes. Your
karma’s
strong, very good, very rich. Yes, we thank you very much. Listen, we’ll talk more after you’ve bathed. I’m glad to have you as a friend.