Bundori: A Novel Of Japan

Chapter 30

When Sano returned to his mansion that evening, he was so stiff and sore he could barely move. Pain clothed him like a skintight suit of armor lined with spikes. At his gate he almost fell off his horse, then staggered through the courtyard and into the house. There he collapsed facedown in the corridor, thankful that no one had attacked him on his way home, for he wouldn’t have been able to defend himself. He rested in the security of having stone walls and guarded gates between him and whoever wished him harm.

Then he heard soft footsteps coming down the corridor. He looked up to see Aoi kneel beside him, her lovely face grave with concern. In his joy at seeing her again, he almost forgot his pain.

“I’ve prepared a medicinal bath for you,” she said. “Come.”

With her strong arms, she helped him to his feet and supported him down the corridor. Sano wanted to rest in her embrace and drink in her beauty, but he could do neither.

“I can’t stay,” he said.

“You must. For the sake of your health.”

He’d spent the afternoon in a futile attempt to establish the suspects’ presences in the pharmacists’ district, the eta settlement, Yoshiwara, and Zōjō Temple at the times of the murders. Now he should find out whether Aoi had identified the mystery witness from the temple, then begin surveillance on Chamberlain Yanagisawa. But the pain, coupled with his desire to be with her, overcame his resistance. He let her lead him to the bathchamber.

In the lamplit paneled room, a coal fire burned beneath the large, round wooden tub. From the heated water rose steam redolent with a sweet, pungent herb Sano couldn’t identify. The open window framed the branches of a blooming cherry tree that trembled in the cool evening breeze, dropping petals like snow flurries.

Sano undressed, and saw that the bruises had darkened; he looked as bad as he felt. His happiness at being with Aoi turned to puzzlement. As she helped him scrub and rinse himself, her touch was gentle but impersonal. She didn’t speak, and wouldn’t meet his eyes. Last night’s intimacy was gone, as if it had never existed.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

Still not looking at him, she shrugged and shook her head. “Get in. Before the water cools.”

Wincing in pain, Sano climbed the short ladder into the tub and immersed himself. The heat seeped into his aching muscles; a blissful sigh escaped him. But even as the pain and tension slipped away, he examined Aoi with increasing concern.

She stood stiffly beside the tub, her face pensive. And why was his extra sense detecting the cold breath of danger emanating from her? His innate distrust of the ninja resurfaced.

“There is something wrong. What is it?”

“Nothing,” she answered, too quickly.

A sick feeling spread through Sano’s stomach, almost eclipsing his fear, as he guessed at the problem. “You weren’t able to find out who the missing woman was?”

“Yes. I did.” Her voice was flat, its huskiness turned hoarse. “Madam Shimizu, wife of an Edo rice broker, fits what you told me, and what I learned from her clothes. She’s staying at her husband’s summer villa.” In the same lifeless voice, Aoi gave the woman’s description, and directions for finding the house.

Sano received the news with less relief than he’d expected, because so far every inquiry had led to Yanagisawa. “Thank you, Aoi,” he said, trying to sound pleased. “I’ll interview Madam Shimizu tomorrow morning.” He hoped that whatever she’d seen wouldn’t provide the final, incontrovertible evidence that would condemn him to death.

Hesitantly Aoi said, “What did you learn today?”

Sano told her, all the while wondering why she’d changed toward him. “O-tama’s story strengthens Yanagisawa’s motive,” he finished. “Wild Boar’s ties the assassin to him. And I didn’t find any evidence against Chūgo or Matsui.”

“Then you’ll arrest Chamberlain Yanagisawa soon?”

Sano turned away from her innocent, hurtful eagerness. She didn’t guess what form Yanagisawa’s execution would take-and he couldn’t tell her.

“Not until I have solid proof of his guilt,” he said.

Although she didn’t move, he felt her shrink from him. Disappointment darkened her eyes. He could forgive her for wishing Yanagisawa’s downfall, and her freedom, but he couldn’t deny the pain of knowing that both could only be bought with his own life. Yearning to bridge the barrier of heritage that separated them, he lifted his hand from the water. She stepped back before it touched her cheek. In the awkward silence, steam rose around them like a physical manifestation of their unhappiness. Then Sano understood the reason for her distant behavior.

She’d reconsidered the wisdom of helping him, and now regretted it. She realized the danger their relationship posed to her, with every day adding to the risk of Yanagisawa’s learning about their collusion. Terrified for her family and herself, she wanted to end their liaison, but feared hurting him.

Guilt and sorrow flooded Sano. He knew what he must do, but couldn’t bear to let her go. Perhaps unwisely, he let his heart voice the message his mind ordered him to deliver.

“My father followed the ancient samurai practice of familiarizing one’s sons with the phenomenon of death, to desensitize them so that they would grow up unafraid of it and thus willing to die in battle for their lord. During my fifth year he began taking me to funerals to watch cremations. In my sixth year he instructed the priests at Zōjō Temple to let me spend nights alone in the cemetery. And when I was seven he started taking me to the execution ground to see the rotting corpses and severed heads. He did this until I reached manhood at fifteen.

“ ‘A samurai must keep constantly in mind the fact that he has to die,’ he would tell me. ‘And you must neither feel nor show fear of death.’ ”

Sano laughed grimly, remembering. “I got part of the lesson right. I never showed fear. My father was proud of what he thought was my courage. But I never told anyone that the funerals gave me nightmares about being burned alive, or that those nights in the cemetery were the longest of my life because I heard ghosts moaning in the trees and thought they would tear me to pieces. I never told anyone that after a trip to the execution ground I would wash myself over and over to remove the spiritual pollution that I believed would kill me. And I’ve never told anyone how much I still fear death-”

Sano caught himself. He hadn’t meant to confess his cowardice. Yet, as before, Aoi had provoked in him the need to reveal thoughts that a samurai wasn’t supposed to have. No one else listened with such understanding, or allowed him the emotional release he sought from the unbending stoicism he must show the world. Now he hastened to the point of his story.

“Aoi. It’s a samurai’s duty to deny fear and emotion, and to accept death. But it’s not yours. You’ve risked your safety and your family’s to do something for which I can never repay you, or forgive myself.”

Dragging out the next words was like uprooting pieces of his soul. “You’re free to go. Tell Yanagisawa I refused to see you. I’ll never reveal what you did for me. I promise.”

Because I love you. He averted his eyes to hide his sadness and avoid seeing the relief in hers. For both of them, duty must prevail over romance. His own personal code of honor wouldn’t let him imperil her further. His only comfort came from knowing that he might not live to suffer long from her departure.

Then he heard a rustle; the tub’s ladder creaked; the water rose to his chin. In surprise, he looked up to see that Aoi had undressed and climbed into the tub beside him.

“Hold me,” she whispered.

She wasn’t leaving him! Sano’s sorrow rocketed into joy, but he knew he mustn’t give in to it. “Aoi, no,” he said.

“Shh.” She put a finger to his lips. Her own trembled; tears welled in her eyes. “Tell me what’s wrong,” Sano pleaded.

Her only answer was a vehement shake of the head. She straddled him, and, yielding to desire, he let her. Buoyed by the water, she seemed almost weightless. He succumbed to the urge to run his hands over her shoulders, breasts, and hips, to draw her spread thighs closer around his waist. The warm, oily water gave her smooth skin a delicious slickness. With their bodies’ contact, intimacy returned. Aoi’s fingers traced his features with a tenderness she’d never expressed in words. She accepted his caresses with a passionate abandon that told him she was giving him her self, and not just her body. Sano’s earlier fear and distrust evaporated like the steam around them. With a moan, he pulled her down onto his erection.

In a rush of intoxicating pleasure, he slid into her. The scented water made him dizzy; the beauty of her face against the lush backdrop of falling cherry blossoms swelled his throat. Restraining his urgency, he raised and lowered her with deliberate slowness; she sighed. This gentle, sensuous coupling couldn’t possibly have been more different from last night’s mutual assault. Sano realized that theirs was a union that could encompass the extremes of emotion-joy and sadness, pain and pleasure, love and hatred, tenderness and violence. His heart mourned as he remembered that it had to end.

Aoi seemed to share his bitter knowledge. She was weeping openly now, even as they moved ever faster together. Her final cry mingled grief with pleasure. Sano moaned in the rapture of his own climax. They clung to each other, and when she pressed her cheek to his, he couldn’t distinguish her tears from his own. He tried to believe that as long as they remained together thus, the moment would last forever.

Too soon the water cooled, forcing Sano to acknowledge the passage of time. Reluctantly he released Aoi.

“I have to go,” he said.

Climbing out of the tub, he dried himself on a towel, noting with relief that he could again move with ease.

“Wait.” Aoi also clambered from the water, hastily drying and dressing herself. “You need your medicines first.”

Once again Sano sensed that air of distracted tension about her. Distrust returned, stronger this time; but she was right. His bruises still ached; without treatment, he would again grow too stiff and sore to move, let alone complete his night’s work.

“All right,” he said. He accompanied her to the bedchamber and lay down on the futon. “But hurry.”

“I’ll make the room warm for you… ” Aoi’s voice was muffled as she turned her back to him and bent over the sunken charcoal brazier. Rising, she hurried to the door.

“Aoi. Wait. Don’t go.” Sano had to find out what was troubling her, and to reestablish contact.

Over her shoulder, she said, “Rest now, and I’ll be right back with the herbs and potions… ”

… and closed the door behind her, leaving Sano to worry about the future. Would he fulfill his duty and his promises? Would he catch Yanagisawa in the act of murder? Must he execute the chamberlain, then take his own life tonight? If not, would fate allow him to arrest Chūgo or Matsui for the murders before his two days were up? How many more nights would he and Aoi have together? Too anxious to relax, Sano stared up at the ceiling. But soon, to his surprise, his eyelids drooped. Realizing that he must have underestimated his fatigue, or the sedative effects of hot water and sex, he struggled to stay alert. But great, irresistible waves of drowsiness washed over him.

He gave in to sleep.

Outside Sano’s door, Aoi stood, rigid with misery. Her mind resonated with the silent howl of anguish that had begun when Chamberlain Yanagisawa ordered her to kill Sano. It had intensified as she’d made love to him and denied anything was wrong. Now she closed her eyes and clenched her fists against the loneliness and despair that filled her heart like blood pooling in a wound. She forced herself to concentrate on the sounds emanating from Sano’s room. His restless stirring ceased, and she waited for the change in his breathing that would mean he’d passed into deep sleep.

Before she’d left the room, she’d dropped into the brazier a secret ninja sleep potion-rare herbs, blood of mole, snake, and newt, absorbed into a piece of paper-that would give off sleep-inducing fumes as it burned. During wartime, her people had tossed this potion into guardhouse stoves to make the sentries drowsy so they could penetrate enemy castles. Now she was using it to put her lover to sleep so she could follow her master’s orders and take his life.

All day long, her thoughts had chased endlessly over the same ground, like a wolf she’d once seen trapped in a mountain crevasse outside her village. Now her mind ached from trying desperately to find a way to disobey Chamberlain Yanagisawa’s orders without endangering her family.

She’d considered delaying Sano’s murder in the hope that he would discover incriminating evidence against Yanagisawa, but what if the chamberlain grew impatient? He would get someone else to kill Sano, and her family would be punished for her failure.

She’d thought of telling Sano about the plot against him. Together they could fake his death, then hide him someplace where he could live under a false identity. But she’d discarded this alternative even more quickly than the first. Despite their short acquaintance, she knew Sano well enough to understand that he would never abandon his post.

What if she were to destroy Chamberlain Yanagisawa, as she longed to do? She’d spent hours plotting how: poison; a thrown blade; a quick blow; an arrow. Yanagisawa, though, was careful, as is any man with many enemies. He employed food tasters and bodyguards. Even with her skill at stealth and combat, she would never get close enough to kill him, then manage to escape afterward. And she couldn’t discredit him by reporting his scheme to the authorities. Yanagisawa controlled the bakufu and the shogun. No one would dare act against him to save her or Sano.

She’d even considered suicide, but that, although releasing her from responsibility, would ensure neither Sano’s safety nor her family’s.

Only one option remained: the most perilous, the one she could never choose.

Now Aoi cast aside these useless thoughts. The mountain wolf had finally starved to death. So must her dreams perish. Old loyalties took precedence over new; filial duty superseded love. Sano must die, by her hand, now.

Fighting tears, she put her ear to the door’s paper panel and listened. The depth of Sano’s breathing confirmed what her extra sense told her: He was fast asleep. She waited a moment to make sure all the sleep potion had burned away. Then, summoning all her courage, she opened the door.

He lay on his stomach, head pillowed on his folded arms. His face was turned toward her; sleep had smoothed away the worry, leaving him looking younger, more innocent, and less troubled than she’d ever seen him. She swallowed pity and self-hatred. Resisting the urge to shake him awake and warn him, she stepped into the room, closing the door quietly behind her. She crossed the floor and knelt beside Sano. The howling inside her rose to a deafening blare that sounded the same word over and over:

No-no-no-no-

Under the noise, Aoi heard Sano’s soft, steady breathing quicken and catch, his pulse skip. She saw his eyelids flutter: He was dreaming. Still, she knew the potion wouldn’t let him awaken. It was time.

No-no-no-

With unsteady hands, she removed from her hair a long wooden hairpin with a black lacquer head shaped like a lady’s fan. She tugged on the blunt shaft of the pin. The hollow wooden sheath came away, exposing the steel prong inside: sharp, needle-thin, and deadly.

Aoi’s tears spilled down her cheeks and over her lips. She wiped them away with her fingers. Her mind’s silent scream vibrated in every muscle of her body. Clutching the hairpin in her trembling right hand, she laid her left on the base of Sano’s neck. The feel of his warm, resilient flesh caused a rush of tenderness, which she choked down. As he writhed and moaned in his sleep, she felt the blood flowing beneath his skin, and the exuberant life force radiating from him. His heartbeat pounded up through her fingers, its quickening pulse matching her own. Slowly, gently, she moved her hand down his spine. Her fingers, wet with tears, left a damp trail on his skin.

Now, despite her anguish, the circumstances evoked a powerful contradictory response deep within Aoi. Her training had prepared her for this dreaded task. Her killing instinct stirred, like a dormant snake uncoiling. Even as her spirit sickened, reflex took over. Her fingers probed the bones and interstices of Sano’s spine. The hand that held the lethal hairpin ceased to tremble. With her inner eye, she saw the great energy wave whose roar drowned out her mind’s screams as it broke over her. She saw the colored lights. And her father’s image.

He stood in the classroom of the village ninja academy. Upon a table before him, a naked man lay facedown, with female students clustered around. Aoi recognized the anatomy lesson she’d attended at age eight.

“Here, between the vertebrae,” her father said, touching a spot on the young man’s spine, “is where you insert your needle. Death is instantaneous, and the needle leaves no trace except a tiny hole where no one will find it.”

One by one, the girls stepped forward to feel the spot, to memorize its position and texture. For a moment, Aoi inhabited her childhood body and world. She touched the man’s back. Then she returned to the present, with her finger at the same spot on Sano’s spine.

The wave’s roar grew louder. Aoi lost contact with her humanity and became a mere vessel for the power coursing through her. The swirling energy focused at two points: her fingertip, pressed against Sano’s flesh, and the hand holding the hairpin. Possessed by the irresistible force, the latter moved until the hairpin’s tip was poised directly over Sano’s back.

Faintly she heard her father’s voice: “Killing is the last, least desirable alternative. But when the time comes, you must recognize it and act without hesitation. Because the safety of us all depends on you.”

No…

Her conscious mind’s weak protest quickly faded. Aoi’s fingertip moved aside, baring the space between Sano’s vertebrae. She lowered the hairpin as every impulse and instinct in her demanded satisfaction. Her heart pounded. The blood thundered in her head. Her breath came in gasps. Her fingers locked around the pin. Slowly she pressed down. The hairpin’s point pierced the outer layer of Sano’s skin. Aoi felt the dark strength gathering in her arm muscles in preparation for driving the weapon home-

Then some last vestige of her essential self rallied against the forces that possessed Aoi. Memory recalled her impossible vision of the future. Like a faded painting on transparent silk, the image of herself and Sano climbing the mountain together hung between her and the turbulent, luminous energy wave. But this time, black storm clouds boiled up over the distant peaks. The wind tossed the trees and rustled the grasses. Aoi saw herself smile and reach out to take the hand Sano offered her, with its promise of love and protection. Then his image shimmered and disappeared. She was alone on the mountain, in the storm.

“Come back!” Aoi pleaded.

At her cry, the dark energy abruptly dissipated. The wave receded. The roar ceased; the colored lights vanished. Her trance was broken.

Aghast at what she’d almost done, Aoi sat stiff and still for a long moment. Then her body went limp, spent of all strength by the effort of reaching the brink of murder. She let go the hairpin, which slid off Sano’s back and onto the futon, leaving behind only a tiny, harmless pinprick. With a low moan, she collapsed against Sano, clinging to him as sobs wracked her body.

Sedated by the poison, Sano slept on, oblivious to her grief, and to the threat against his life. Her weakness had saved him-for now. But she owed her first loyalty to others, for whose protection she’d learned the deadly ninja skills she so dreaded using.

Tomorrow she must find the strength and courage to do what she could not tonight.