Heart of the Ronin (13 page)

She could sense that Ken’ishi wanted to be a part of society. He wanted to belong somewhere. She, on the other hand, wanted freedom. The wild, rebellious notion that she should leave home and become a ronin crossed her mind. She could become a famous warrior woman, giving strength to women everywhere, saving them from cruel husbands. It would be so exciting! But leaving home would hurt her father, who had no children but her, and her mother had died giving birth when Kazuko was ten years old. The infant, another daughter, was born weak and sickly and had died within a month. Kazuko sometimes wondered what her sister would have been like if she had survived. What would it have been like to not grow up alone? She missed her mother sometimes too, but she knew that her mother would have opposed her father in giving Kazuko any kind of martial training. Her mother would have wanted Kazuko to be a proper young woman, but not long after her mother’s death, her father began teaching her the naginata. The fight with the oni had shown her that the endless, grueling hours of training had not been in vain.

She looked at Ken’ishi as he dragged Hatsumi’s stretcher, his brow furrowed, placing one foot in front of the other with complete determination, the sheen of sweat on his arms and face, a single, crystalline droplet hanging from his chin, swelling until it let go, falling into the dust. Such a handsome face. A bit scruffy and unwashed perhaps, but handsome. He would make a fine lover, she thought devilishly. She imagined an affair with him, like the court ladies in the capital with their surreptitious lovers. She wondered if he could write love poetry, like her Yuta, like the famous courtiers in the capital who wooed with such eloquent abandon.

Then her gaze wandered down to Hatsumi’s head lolling to the side with the rhythm of Ken’ishi’s gait. A stab of pity went through Kazuko like an arrow, and her vision misted over with fresh tears. She dabbed at her eyes with her sleeve.

Then Hatsumi moved her head, not a weak, helpless bobbing, but more like someone rousing from a nightmare. Her purpled eyelids fluttered, trying to open. Her mouth opened and released a dry croak.

“Ken’ishi!” Kazuko said. “Please stop for a moment.”

He stopped and looked over his shoulder at her quizzically.

“She’s trying to speak.”

Ken’ishi eased the stretcher poles down and stretched his shoulders and back.

Kazuko knelt beside Hatsumi. “Hatsumi! It’s Kazuko. What is it? Are you thirsty?”

Hatsumi’s dry, swollen tongue touched her cracked, wounded lips. A whisper came out that Kazuko could not hear, so she leaned closer.

Hatsumi’s voice was weak and hoarse. “So thirsty. Water.”

“Ken’ishi, please give me your water bottle.” He handed his gourd to her, and she held it to Hatsumi’s lips, allowing a trickle to flow into her mouth.

Hatsumi gulped and swallowed and the relief on her face was plain. “More.”

“Good, Hatsumi. You’re going to be fine.”

“Thank you.” Hatsumi’s voice was still hoarse but much improved. Then she reached up with a quivering hand and pulled Kazuko nearer. She whispered, “I’m very sorry, but I must make water. The pain is so terrible, but I fear I will wet my clothes. Can you help me?”

Kazuko felt the irony of Hatsumi’s words. Her previously beautiful robes were caked with dried blood and covered with dust from the road. But she smiled and squeezed Hatsumi’s hand. “Of course I will help you!” She untied the loop of twine that kept Hatsumi from sliding off the stretcher, eased the other woman’s arm around her neck, and lifted her onto her feet.

A hoarse, whimpering moan escaped Hatsumi, and her face twisted with agony.

Kazuko nearly faltered and wept at Hatsumi’s pain, but she took a deep breath and held firm. She took a slow, small step, and Hatsumi followed. Tears poured down her swollen cheeks. “You are strong, Hatsumi! You will be fine!”

Helping Hatsumi toward the bushes at the edge of the path seemed to take an eternity. All the while, she was conscious of Ken’ishi’s eyes on her, his indecision between whether he should offer his assistance or remain apart from matters of such female privacy. Kazuko was glad he did not try to help. She could manage by herself, and in spite of Hatsumi’s dire state, Kazuko still felt the pressure of ingrained propriety.

Out of sight of the road, Kazuko helped Hatsumi lift the skirts of her robes and steadied her. Again Hatsumi whimpered. “Oh, Jizo help me, it hurts! It burns!”

Fresh tears sprang forth in Kazuko’s eyes, and she squeezed Hatsumi tighter. When Hatsumi was finished, Kazuko moved her back toward the road, but she shuddered when she noticed that the wet grass was sprinkled with large, dark blood clots. The relief on Hatsumi’s face was plain, however, and that bolstered Kazuko’s strength.

Hatsumi’s voice was clearer but still weak. “Kazuko, is it really you? I have had so many nightmares. Am I dreaming? I can’t wake up from them. . . . So horrible. . . .”

“No, it’s me. Be strong! You must be strong!”

“So much blood!” Her voice quavered with mixed sobs. “So much pain! I can’t stand it!” Then her voice began to rise in pitch with the sound of delirium. “I must be in hell! And you’re not my dear Kazuko! You’re a demon! Oh, demon, take me for good . . . I cannot stand it any longer. . . .” Her voice trailed off, and she sagged in Kazuko’s grip.

Ken’ishi stood with his back turned, pretending to look at the trees.

“Ken’ishi, help me!” Kazuko gasped. Hatsumi was falling. In an instant, he was beside her, lifting Hatsumi’s dead weight by the other shoulder.

Hatsumi’s head lolled, and she screamed at the sky. “Don’t touch me, demon!” She struggled as they lowered her back onto the stretcher, then she sank again into limpness.

As Hatsumi lay motionless between them, Kazuko and Ken’ishi looked at each other and their eyes locked. Suddenly she felt as if her heart would burst. Sobs exploded out of her, uncontrollable and violent as a spring flood. She did not know how long she knelt in the middle of the road with her face buried in her sleeves, but when the tears had exhausted themselves, her sleeves were dark with wetness. She glanced with embarrassment at Ken’ishi. He sat quietly, gaze respectfully downcast, hands placed on his thighs.

“I’m sorry,” she said, trying to smile at him through her tears. “I must apologize for my weakness. I am too much trouble.”

“Don’t be foolish,” he said.

“We should go.”

As they continued on, Kazuko was annoyed with herself for breaking down. Ken’ishi must be annoyed with her as well. Most men were either annoyed or embarrassed when a woman showed emotion.

Then she heard something behind them and looked back. Standing on the road about twenty paces away was a rust-colored dog, with large pointed ears and a bushy tail tipped with a dark spot like a fox’s tail. The dog watched them quizzically, warily, its brown eyes sparkling with cleverness.

Ken’ishi looked over his shoulder, and a wide grin split his face. He called back, “I thought you were lost!”

The dog padded closer, his nose in the air. His eyes flicked from Ken’ishi to Hatsumi to Kazuko and back again. A strange growling sound came from the dog’s throat. Kazuko stepped back and gripped the naginata in both hands.

“Put up your weapon! Don’t threaten him!” Ken’ishi snapped.

She realized that she had brandished the point of her naginata so she snapped it back upward.

“I’m sorry. Is this dog yours?” she said. Dogs had never been part of her life. She had seen them, but they were things that lived around peasant neighborhoods or were kept for blood sport by a few samurai lords. The raw intelligence in this animal’s eyes made her uneasy, as if the dog were sizing her up.

It was only a few paces away now, moving toward Hatsumi. Its movements grew stiffer, and its shoulders hunched as it slunk closer to the ground, tail down, ears flattening. It growled again.

Then she jumped in surprise as similar sounds came from beside her. From Ken’ishi. She stared and her mouth fell open.

He glanced at her and said, “He is my friend.” There was something quiet and powerful in his voice.

The dog and the man exchanged terse growling sounds as the dog padded closer to Hatsumi, nose extended, sniffing. The closer the dog moved to her, the more stiffly the reddish hackles on its neck rose.

* * *

Akao said, “Evil here. Terrible stench. Hurts my nose.”

Ken’ishi said, “The oni attacked her. We killed it. Did you see?”

“Smelled the blood and came. Followed.” The dog sniffed her clothes gingerly and drew back, snorting and spitting.
“Evil
!”
 

“We are trying to find a priest to be purified.”

The dog glanced at him skeptically. “Bad spirit here. Dirty.”

“Bad spirit?” Ken’ishi looked at his friend. Sometimes Akao’s words were so terse that understanding him was difficult, and Akao rarely bothered to elaborate.

Akao moved stepped toward Kazuko, sniffing her legs. “Afraid.”

“You are so frightening,” Ken’ishi said with a wry smile.

The dog sniffed in derision. “Fierce! Rabbits fear!”

Ken’ishi smiled.

“Good smell, this one. Good spirit.” He raised his nose higher. “Fertile. Receptive.”

Akao eased closer to her and rubbed the top of his head against her robes.

Ken’ishi said, “You are shameless.”
 

The dog stopped his nuzzling and looked at Ken’ishi. “Man breeds anytime. Dogs do not. Who is shameless?” Then he returned to his demand for attention.

Ken’ishi laughed. Sometimes he forgot how clever Akao was. He watched Kazuko as the dog nuzzled her leg. “He wants you to touch him,” he told her.

“Really?”

He enjoyed the mix of wonder and trepidation on her face. Then she reached down and stroked the dog’s ear. Akao nuzzled her harder.

“He’s so soft!” She grinned.

“He calls himself Akao.”

“You did not name him yourself?”

“No, he told me his name when we met.”

She looked at Ken’ishi quizzically. “What do you mean? You’re playing with me.”

Ken’ishi said nothing.

Akao looked up at her and wagged his tail. He barked once, tongue lolling from his smile.

“Let’s go,” Ken’ishi said. Hatsumi grew heavier by the moment.

Ten

The drake and his wife

Paddling among green tufts of grass

Are playing house

—
Issa

Late in the afternoon, they rounded a bend in the path, and the outlying houses of a village came into view. Ken’ishi stopped. The villagers would be looking for him.

Kazuko noticed his hesitation. “What is it?”

He said nothing. He might be recognized. Would Kazuko’s status protect him? If she heard what he had done, would she be willing to protect him? Should he lie and say that it was not him?

Then he realized that his decision had already been made. He would protect Kazuko and Hatsumi with his life, a decision made the moment he decided to throw himself into battle on their behalf. He was their bodyguard and would remain so until they were safe at home. The actions of any villagers were irrelevant. He would deny nothing.

The village was larger than Uchida, and the appearance of Lord Nishimuta no Jiro’s daughter raised a great commotion, with commoners coming out to prostrate themselves around them. His fears seemed to be unwarranted, because they paid only cursory attention to him.

Kazuko was gracious and courteous to the villagers. The village had no healer, but the priest had some skill. He could perform the rites of purification they required after their exposure to the blood of the oni and the bandits. The village headman offered them his entire house for their stay. He said his house and its rooms were the finest in the village, and he could not bear to have them stay anywhere else. The priest, however, said that they must stay with him to conduct the healing and purification rites. This seemed to annoy the headman. The jealousy in the headman’s manner was obvious as the priest led them all back to his house.

The village constable was absent, having gone to Dazaifu on some business. The headman also offered them four other villagers to carry the stretcher the rest of the way to the lord’s manor, but apologized that there was no carriage to save Kazuko the toil of the walk. She thanked the headman for his offer of stretcher-bearers, and Ken’ishi was grateful when she accepted. His back and shoulders ached from dragging the stretcher for so long.

With the villagers carrying Hatsumi’s stretcher, they went to the priest’s house near the local shrine. In their polluted state, they were careful to walk around the torii arch, not through it, to avoid offending the kami.

The priest’s house was modest but well kept, with an outbuilding where he performed rites and ceremonies. Both buildings were nestled within a humble garden. The dwarfed bushes were manicured and arranged, and every stone on the footpath seemed to have its own place. The priest was a middle-aged man with a round, jovial face and kind, gentle eyes. Akao allowed him to pet his head. He called into the house to his wife, ordering her to heat water for tea, and to prepare a special bath. Meanwhile, he showed them into the special building. Akao lay down outside the door and rested his head on his front paws. Placards filled with writing covered the walls of the structure, and the air inside was thick with incense and smoke. Ken’ishi asked the priest what was written on the placards.

The priest answered, “Some of them are prayers to the gods to give strength and peace to those within these walls. Some of them are wards to keep out evil.” Ken’ishi noted that the priest had a strange gait, with slow, almost languid movements. “Sit,” he said, “please sit.”

The villagers set down Hatsumi’s stretcher. She moaned pitifully.

“Before we can begin the rites,” the priest said, “you must be cleansed physically. After that, I will see that your spirits are cleansed. My wife will tell us when the special bath is ready.”

At that moment, a woman opened the door and stepped inside, bowing, and carrying a tray laden with a steaming pot and three teacups. She looked at Hatsumi’s bloodied clothes and battered body with a look of profound pity, but she said nothing. Setting the tray down beside her husband, she departed.