The 47 Ronin Story (13 page)

Oishi could see that the situation was out of control and likely to remain that way unless one side or the other gave in. It was plain to see that the others would not so he resolved to defer to their wishes as gracefully as possible in the interests of unity.

"All right," he said, raising his hand for silence, "all right. I cannot stand against so many. I agree that we will all share our fortunes together, but I still insist we must wait for the outcome of the petition. If we do not hear by March, we must wait another year. If there is no decision by then, we will assume that hope is lost forever and attack in a body. Do you understand? 1 promise you that at that time, or sooner, we will attack!"

The men cheered and began an excited discussion. Oishi advanced his views about Chisaka's probable attitude toward Kira, and they agreed that his analysis made sense. This information would help placate Horibe along with the news that there would be definite action forthcoming. They all renewed their pledge to stand together as a loyal band and Yoshida was sent back to Edo with instructions to stay there

with Horibe until further notice. Hara returned to Osaka while Onodera, a quick, wiry old campaigner, stayed at Yamashina with Oishi as chief of staff. The men drifted away in twos and threes to make matters more difficult for the spies waiting outside^ but many of them were followed and their actions reported promptly to Chisaka, and through him to Kira. When he heard about the meeting, Kira insisted that the spy force be even further augmented and Chisaka finally agreed. But he said nothing that could be construed by Kira as an invitation to move into the castle at Yonezawa.

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Spring came*wetly to the Kyoto area with heavy rainfall and repeated flood conditions. Oishi was confined closely to the house at Yamashina with plenty of time to think and consequently to brood. He felt hemmed in and on the defensive because of the continued presence of Chisaka's spies. He could well sympathize with Horibe and the others in Edo who kept close watch on Kira and were therefore tempted beyond the bounds of reason to strike out against him. Here in Yamashina, Oishi had no more formid-

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Chapter Ten

able opponents to face than shadowy spies, but by the time the weather had cleared and the flood damage was repaired, he had decided on an unusual plan. Although not as dangerous as physical combat, it entailed risks of a different sort which Oishi felt were worth taking. A sword is not always required in order to do battle.

During the first week in April he stayed late in Kyoto for several nights without explanation, but on the occasion of Kataoka's next visit in May his motives began to become apparent.

"Fm glad to see you," he greeted his old friend, with an expression more intense than usual.

"No word from Edo about the petition yet?" the monkey-faced man asked as they entered the house.

"No," Oishi growled, "and it doesn't look like there's going to be. Horibe and the others were right— the councilors are only stalling."

"You don't know that ..." Kataoka began, but Oishi interrupted him.

"Don't try to salve my vanity. 1 admit I was wrong. I was so hopeful of saving something of what was dear to us that I blinded myself to the real truth."

"There may still be a chance. Araki said ..." But again Kataoka was cut short.

"Araki doesn't make the decisions. He's been polite, possibly helpful, but we can't depend on his optimism. No, from now on we must assume that all is lost and plan accordingly."

"You mean attack now?" asked Kataoka incredulously.

Oishi hesitated, then spoke in a low voice, "When in haste it is sometimes best to take a roundabout way. There are certain preliminaries I had postponed till now but I see they can no longer wait. Get your

house in order, my friend, as quickly as possible, and I shall do likewise."

They went to bed, Kataoka still puzzled about Oishi's meaning, but the next day revealed that he was indeed in earnest about settling his affairs.

In the morning Oishi rose early, as usual, to eat the morning meal with his wife and children. When it was finished and he had watched the little ones go off to play, he asked his wife to come out of the kitchen where she was helping the cook prepare the day's menu, and led her into a sitting room in another part of the house. It was late spring and he threw open the paper shoji to the garden, now beginning to warm in the sun. He motioned for her to sit down and she knelt obediently before him, curious and not a little apprehensive about what her husband was going to say.

"The weather has become much warmer," he said, aware of her uneasiness.

"Yes," she murmured, keeping her eyes lowered, "the buzzing of the cicadas increases with the approach of summer."

Without responding he looked at her for a moment in silent admiration. In all the years he had known her she had always behaved in exactly the correct manner for one of her station, and he knew he could depend on her to do so in the future. It was fortunate that at a time like this he could rely on her help, no matter what he asked. What he had to say now would put her training as the wife of a samurai to its severest test, yet he had faith in her ability to meet it.

"I am sorry if my coming in late has troubled you," he said, postponing the main issue but feeling that this was also something that had to be said.

"Not at all," she lied, with a quick little look up at

Chapter Ten

his face. "The children and 1 sleep undisturbed by anything."

He knew this was a reference to the fact that he had not been to her bed for many weeks, and cleared his throat in embarrassment.

"I—what I have to ask is not easy, considering that I have no fault to find with you ..."

"Anything you desire," she murmured.

"I have written out this letter," he said, producing it from his long sleeve and handing it to her. "It is a letter of divorce."

She took it in silence although her face went pale and Oishi realized that her heart must have turned to stone at his words. Without any expression she read it through, then laid it beside her on Lhe straw-matted floor. She turned her head away and Oishi moved to the open shoji to look out into the garden and avoid seeing her tears.

"You must have known it would come to this," he said gently.

"I told myself that it would not," she said, controlling her voice so that not the breath of a sob would be heard. "I told myself that the petition would be granted and that we would all go home to Ako someday."

"I told myself that, too, but now the time for fairytales is over. I must do things in which I have no right to involve you and the children. That is why we must separate."

For a moment she was at a loss for words. "Involve me? Why should I not be involved in what you do?"

"Because it would not please me to have you do so," he answered and she obediently bowed her head. She had not meant to argue or oppose him.

"I want you to take the children and return to your

parents' home. Whatever I do in the future will therefore not reflect on you, nor will you be held in any way responsible for my deeds. That is the way it must be if I am to feel free to act as I think I must."

"The children," she said. "Do you mean all the children?"

"Chikara is sixteen," he replied. "I think we must let him make up his own mind whether he will go or stay."

She bowed her head in final acquiescence but could not prevent a sob from escaping her.

"I must lose you both?" she suddenly cried out. For a moment there was no sound but the humming of the insects in the garden, and then she deliberately dried her eyes and composed herself.

"I am sorry," she said. "I know it is something you must do and I will pray for your success as I always have. But . . . when must this . . . divorce . . . happen?" she asked in a tired, faraway voice.

"Soon—as soon as possible. . . . Please, send in Chikara so that I can put the matter to him."

Their conversation was over and she obediently bowed her head to the floor, then stood and went out, her white-stockinged feet rustling over the tatami in a cadence that was distinctively her own and that Oishi knew he would miss more than anything in the days ahead.

Chikara was troubled by his mother's manner when she summoned him, and went to see his father in some trepidation. He kneeled and bowed respectfully and then waited for whatever rebuke he must hear. The fact that his father's opening words were delivered in a calm, contemplative manner did not lessen his anxiety.

"Hardship in our present life is an atonement for

Chapter Ten

sins committed in our previous existence, or the education necessary to prepare for a higher place in the life to come. That is what your teachers have taught you, haven't they?"

"Yes, father."

"Then we have no hesitation about choosing the harder path when it is offered, if that is the direction in which our duty Hes, do we?"

"No, father."

"But when there is a conflict of loyalties, decisions are sometimes difficult. I'm not speaking about myself now—the direction in which my duty lies is clear. But in your case you have two paths to choose from. If you go with your mother when she returns with the little ones to her parents, you will be responsible for her welfare and your path will not be an easy one. If you decide to go with me, the path almost certainly leads to death, but hopefully death with honor. This is what you must decide for yourself. I think you have reached the age when you can make up your own mind. It is a choice I cannot make for you."

For Chikara, this was a moment he had been waiting for and he had prepared his answer long ago. Without hesitation he replied, "I will go with you father. I know why you are sending mother away—to protect her. If I went with her I would only be protecting myself and that is not the act of a man—of a samurai."

Oishi was pleased at his son's response and felt pride in his heritage. It was true that the blossoms of today draw strength from the roots of a thousand years ago. Still he did not want to rush the boy into any hasty decision and urged him to consider carefully what he was doing.

"I already have," the boy assured him. "I am a

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man and must go with the men. Any other path would be cowardly."

Oishi smiled and took the boy by the hand. "Welcome to our band," he said. "From now on your responsibilities will be equal to those of any of us."

Chikara smiled back at him. He had finally gotten what he wanted more than anything else in the world, and as he left his father his eyes were shining and his chest was puffed out with pride.

Within a day the rest of the family was packed and ready to leave and Oishi saw them off with a stern expression to hide his true feelings. The small children's wide eyes were red from crying but in their father's presence they stifled their sobs. Mimura accompanied them, leading the pack horse that carried their belongings, but he would return as soon as they were located in their home. As they went out the gate, Oishi's wife turned for one last look at her husband, wavered for a moment, and then hurried on. Both of them knew they would never meet again.

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Of the three large pleasure quarters in Kyoto, Gion was by far the most popular. And of all the geisha houses in Gion, the one that enjoyed the most enviable reputation for the quality of its services was the Flying Crane. The proprietor, a shrewd, perspiring hulk of a man named Hoshino, had worked hard to make his place the best in Kyoto, and he meant to keep it that way. Good service paid off in profits and Hoshino would do anything to make money.

At the moment he was worried about the party in one of the rooms overlooking the river. Two of the guests he knew by sight, a couple of local fellows named Shindo and Koyama. But the other two samurai were obviously inside a geisha house for the first time and did not seem to know how to relax and enjoy themselves. The one with the high forehead was especially ill at ease, and Hoshino feared he might be a man of influence who would carry away the impression that the Flying Crane was a dull place.

Hoshino stood in the hallway outside and perspired in recurrent gushes as the conversation beyond the

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paper door lagged to the point where he could stand no more. This called for drastic measures and he raised a damp arm to summon a passing waitress.

"Get Okaru," he said, and the girl bowed quickly and went to do as she was told.

In the room within, Oishi was indeed bored.

The teahouse was picturesque, and he was sure this room overlooking the sunny Kamo River was the best in the house, but the endless chatter of the geisha at his side was more than he had bargained for.

There were four of them, one for each of the guests, and all had brought in lacquered trays holding sake bottles and cups. They were dressed in bright kimono of the richest imaginable materials, with wide contrasting obi tied in huge bows. Their faces were painted white and lip rouge was applied to their lower lips. Over it all their hair was done in an elaborate piled-up style and decorated with hair ornaments.

The girls had introduced themselves with an engaging informality and laughingly applied nicknames to all four. Oishi was simply called "Uncle," Shindo was "Mr. Fox," Koyama was "Mr. Mouse," and Kataoka, of course, became "Mr. Monkey." Drinks were poured, toasts were made, the cups were drained and filled again, but while Shindo and Koyama, and even to some extent Kataoka, began to enjoy themselves, Oishi found it impossible to join in. The girl by his side was young enough to be his daughter and he felt foolish drinking with her. He had almost made up his mind to leave when there was an unexpected development.

He had turned aside to mutter some comment to

Chapter Eleven

Kataoka when the girl between them got up to go for a food tray. He was dimly aware that the other girls left at the same time but seemingly all returned together with colorful and appetizing dishes that were plainly concocted with no regard for the Shogun's edict prohibiting the eating of meat or fish.