Heart of the Ronin (31 page)

“Good morning, young man. I have your breakfast, as always. And a message arrived for you from Master Koga. Would you like me to read it to you?”

“Of course!”
 

The priest sensed the man edging forward, expectation rising in his voice. As he placed the tray on the floor, he said, “Very well.” He then pulled a letter from his robes, untied the silken cord, unrolled the paper, and began to read. “
 
‘Sir, I hope the New Year finds you well and happy, with a year full of promise. To that end, I would like to offer you a place in my training hall for instruction. Please come at your earliest convenience. Sincerely, Koga no Masaharu.’ Ah, this is good news isn’t it? You have waited so long!”

“Yes, this
is
good news!” The man’s voice betrayed his jubilation. “Now, I can return to the path I set myself upon. I have unfinished business.”

“Ah, yes, the man who injured you.”

The man said nothing.
 

“That was a terrible wound on your leg. You are lucky it healed so well.”

The man reached out of the darkness with his right hand, the hand that was always swathed in bandages. As he moved into the light, the priest saw that his flesh had grown pale, and his hard eyes were rimmed in red. He pulled the tray back into the darkness.

“Revenge and hatred are not The Way, Taro. They lead only to death and suffering.”

“Again with that, priest? I thank you for your kindness and hospitality, and I will never forget how you helped me, but I grow tired of hearing those things. The man who did this to me will die. Only then will I rest. I’ll be leaving today for Master Koga’s training hall.”

The priest did not relent. “All this hatred for an old leg wound? It is bad for your soul.”

“It is more than that. It was his contempt. He did not respect me enough to kill me. So every day I suffer. I was foolish before. I was not ready. But next time we meet, I
will
be ready.” The longer the man spoke, the deeper his voice became, until it had become an almost animal growl, like that of a hungry tiger.

A pang of fear drove the priest backward a step, and he swallowed. “Your soul will suffer in future lives if you pursue this path.” His shaven pate beaded with sweat.

“I don’t care! There is time for atonement later. Now I must have revenge. Now, please, leave me alone.”

The priest bowed and retreated, almost gratefully. Something deep within him was shaking with fear, a quiet, insistent dread. He was happy to return to the temple and resume copying sutras. Today, he needed to concentrate on the power of the sutras, to think about only the words and the meaning behind the words, and he applied himself with unusual enthusiasm.

He never saw his guest leave. That night, when the priest checked the guesthouse and found it empty, a wave of relief so intense almost collapsed him.

Four

Out of one wintry

Twig, one bud, one blossom’s worth

Of warmth at long last!

—Ransetsu

The morning came, quiet and gradual, masked by the cold grayness of clouds and mist. There was no fire in Ken’ishi’s room, so he was grateful for the warm, sleeping body lying next to his. Kiosé slept the sleep of the exhausted, nestled against his shoulder. Even in sleep, her hand clutched the front of his robes.

He looked down at her face. While she was sleeping, she was pretty. Her face had none of the weariness and despair that weighed upon her when she was awake, diminishing her beauty. He studied the shape of her face, and found himself comparing her to another face that was burned into his mind. Her ears stuck out a bit more. Her teeth were a bit crooked, but not unpleasantly so. Her throat was smooth and soft, and she had a small mole below one ear and another on the opposite cheek. Then he gritted his teeth and purged thoughts of comparison from his mind. Enough!
She
was gone! Even so, the sound of her name floated around the periphery of his mind. Enough!

Kiosé’s eyes opened, blinked, and looked into his. He looked into them, and there, deep in their dark depths, was a spark that last night he had thought extinguished. Here, in the quiet, vulnerable morning, he saw it was still there, hiding, hidden. Then she looked away and sat up, rubbing her eyes.

“Good morning,” he said.

“Good morning, sir,” she said.

He sat up beside her, took her arm, and pulled her to him. She came to him willingly, without resistance. He kissed her, and she kissed him back. His desire rose to a boil, and he clutched her to him. Part of him was surprised at the fervor of his need, but she accepted it, welcomed it, and clutched him onto her, into her. As he entered her soft, moist heat, the flash of another face intruded in his mind, and closing his eyes would not drive the image away.
Enough!
The ghostly countenance, beautiful beyond compare, faded into the mists of his memory.

The mounting cries of their passion filtered through the rice-paper walls, but they did not care. The shuddering convulsions of their ecstasy drove away all thoughts of modesty or decorum. When it was over and their frenzied breathing began to slow, she looked into his eyes, smiling, biting her lip. She plaintively touched his face, and said, “Again?” So he obliged her with fresh fervor.
 

* * *

Outside the inn, Ken’ishi sat down on the veranda, dangling his feet over the ground. He held a small wooden box filled with rice and pickled plums, a small bowl of fish soup, and three rice cakes sweetened with red bean paste and wrapped in moist leaves. Tetta had given him all this food free of charge, leftover from the New Year celebration that had been cut short. Before long, a familiar rusty-brown shape poked between his legs from under the veranda and looked up at him with bright brown eyes.

Ken’ishi scratched his ears. “Have you eaten today? You smell of fish.”

“Fishing village. So, smell of fish. Yes, found some fish to eat. Rice ball?”

Ken’ishi scooped up half of his rice with his hands, squeezed it into a ball, and handed it to Akao. The dog gobbled it down in one bite, then licked the sticky kernels from Ken’ishi’s hands.

Ken’ishi opened the leaf around one of the sticky rice cakes and thrust the whole thing into his mouth. He was hungry.

Akao sat down beside him. “Leaving today?”

“No,” Ken’ishi said. “Staying today.”

“Leaving tomorrow.”

“I don’t know. We’ll see.”

“You smell of female. You are shameless.” The dog grinned, tongue lolling, laughing silently.

At that moment, Kiosé stepped out of the inn with a pot of hot tea. Wordlessly, she poured him a cup, set the teapot down, and went back inside.

The dog laughed again. “Smell like her!”

Ken’ishi smiled and said nothing. Norikage approached them. The small man’s face was cheery, but somehow the mirth did not reach his eyes. “Ken’ishi, good morning.”

“Good morning.”

“I am happy to find you awake.” He eyed Akao for a moment. “Is this your dog?”

“You can call him Akao.”

Norikage nodded slowly, appraising Ken’ishi’s words. “Shall I show you to your house?”

“My house?” His eyebrows rose.

“Yes. The village constable’s house.”

Ken’ishi let the pleasure of this revelation sink in. “Very well. We will go as soon as I finish.” Ken’ishi scooped the last lump of rice into his mouth.

“As you wish.” Norikage waited while Ken’ishi continued his meal.

Kiosé came out and brought Norikage a cup and poured him tea from the pot. He drank the tea while Ken’ishi finished the soup and rice cakes.

Norikage said, “You already have an admirer, I see.”

Ken’ishi looked up from his bowl. “What? Admirer?”

“Kiosé. I saw it by the way she looked at you. And she came by the door twice since she brought the tea, just to look at you.”

Ken’ishi said nothing, sipping his tea.

Norikage smiled wryly and sipped his own tea.

* * *

Ken’ishi’s house was a small but comfortable one near the constable’s office. Norikage showed Ken’ishi around. “I already had Masahige’s belongings moved out, with arrangements made to send them back to his family. Yes, I know the place feels empty, but you can buy a futon and such with your salary.”

“I receive a salary?” Ken’ishi said, hardly able to contain his surprise.

“Yes, of course! I receive both of our salaries from the village taxes, and we each get a monthly sum. Obviously you have never had such an arrangement before.”
 

“I have not. But I am grateful.” He tried to keep the excitement out of his voice.

“You are a good man, Ken’ishi. And you will serve this village well, I think.”

“I will try.”

Then was a soft knock on the front door, and a woman’s voice. “Ken’ishi-sama. Norikage-sama. Are you home?”

Norikage gave Ken’ishi a devilish smile. “Your admirer.”

Ken’ishi’s face betrayed no emotion, but he was pleased that she had come. He called out, “Enter!”

The door slid open, and Kiosé bowed. “I am being rude. Master Tetta sent me to give you this.” In her hands, she held a covered basket.

“Very well,” Ken’ishi said. “Bring it in.”

She stepped inside tentatively, taking off her zori, and handed the basket up to Ken’ishi. “Thank you,” he said.

“It was no trouble, sir. If ever you need anything, please call me.” She bowed deeply, and there was a strange tone in her voice that he could not identify.

He bowed in return.

“Please excuse me,” she said, “I have much work to do.” With that, she turned, put her sandals back on, and departed.

“Indeed!” Norikage said, grinning at Ken’ishi. “‘If you need anything,’ she said.”

“Do not make fun of me,” Ken’ishi said. “Or of her.”

“Ah, Ken’ishi, don’t be so serious! There is nothing wrong with amusing banter among men! In truth, she looks better today than she has of late. I have never seen her smile before. I wonder why she smiles today.”

“I can’t hazard a guess.”

“Very well. But I should warn you. Keeping a secret in a village such as this is impossible.”

“I will keep that in mind.”

“One other thing I should tell you. Cavorting with a whore is one thing. Everybody does it. It is expected. But do not make the mistake of believing she will ever be anything else to the people of this village.”

Ken’ishi’s brow furrowed and his fists clenched.

“My apologies. I am merely trying to help you.”

“Thank you for your concern. Now, if you will forgive me, I must practice.”

“Very well. Afterwards, please come to my office. I have much to teach you.”
 

* * *

After Norikage departed, Ken’ishi spent an hour practicing sword drills, the formulaic practice movements that Kaa had taught him. He would soon have to arrange for himself a proper practice ground. Perhaps, with enough money, someday he could even have his own training hall. After he was finished with his practice, he looked in the basket Kiosé brought him. Inside were several small packages, rice balls, pickled fish, a bundle of dried seaweed leaves, a jar of sake, and a bag of uncooked rice. A fine gift. He would thank Tetta later.

When he stepped outside and walked toward the constabulary, the passing villagers looked at him with a mixture of wonder, curiosity, and apprehension. Doubtless, all of them had heard accounts of last night’s events. In fact, many of the village men had been there to witness the whole thing.

Norikage stepped outside to greet him as he approached the constabulary. The thin, rodent-like man ushered Ken’ishi into his office and offered him some tea. Then he said, “So, Ken’ishi, are you ready to begin your education?”

Ken’ishi’s teacup halted a finger’s breadth from his lips. “Education?”

“Yes. You want to learn how to read and write, do you not?”

“Yes.”

“Then it is a simple matter of beginning, is it not? ‘The journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step,’ as they say.”

Ken’ishi nodded. “I suppose so.”

“Good! Henceforth, we will have lessons every day at this time.”

“Every day?”

“Yes. A proper education takes time!”

Ken’ishi sighed. “Very well. I’ll come every day after weapon practice. Perhaps
you
require some lessons.”

“Me? Whatever for?”

“Learn to use the sword and the bow!”

Norikage laughed. “Me? Use the sword and bow? That’s a good jest! I am a weakling! I can hardly lift a sword, much less draw a bow.”

Ken’ishi scowled. “Practice makes you stronger.”

“Nonsense! My young friend, strength is why I have
you
to fight for me.” He laughed again.

Ken’ishi’s scowl softened. “Perhaps some people aren’t born to use a warrior’s weapons.”

“Indeed.” Norikage then pulled out several sheets of paper, an inkpot, and two brushes. “These are the tools of a scholar and a gentleman, Ken’ishi. With diligent study, you will learn to use them. Now, let’s begin.”
 

* * *

That night, after a long, full day, Ken’ishi lay back on his futon, staring up into the dark rafters. He could not remember ever living in a house before this. The shadows cast into the underbelly of the roof by the brazier of coals beside him danced and shifted, creating dream-like, half-formed shapes and voids. He contemplated the events that led him to this turn of fortune, the path his life had taken since leaving the north.

The day had been a full one, a succession of new and wondrous experiences, meeting some of the people around the village, familiarizing himself with the village and its environs, and the most mind-boggling experience, the new journey to literacy. He returned from his lessons with Norikage to find his house freshly cleaned and tidied. He suspected only one person.

He thought about Kiosé. Kiosé was so different from . . . her. She was so weak and vulnerable, soft, but with the same sort of kind spirit. And he sensed her fervent desire for something better in life than the lot she had been given. What crimes had she committed in previous lives to sentence her to the life of a common prostitute? He should protect her, help her, even though there was little he could do to improve her place in life. Tetta owned her, and Ken’ishi did not have enough money to buy her contract. He could not deliver her from the life of servitude in which she was trapped. He had known so few women that he could make no comparisons. Why would a man sell his own daughter to be a whore? Were daughters such a burden? Then he thought about the many courtesans he had seen in the capital, so beautiful, so graceful, with their beautiful clothes and immaculate appearance, like painted, porcelain goddesses. Did all of those women come from such unpleasant origins? Were all of them slaves?