Heaven's Net Is Wide

11

The days fell into a regular pattern of meditation and exercise, like the recurring motifs in a woven cloth. In the middle of the day or after the evening meal, Matsuda often talked about the history and politics of the clan and the strategies of war. He questioned the young man about his previous teaching: Shigeru was expected to retain everything in his mind. Matsuda’s memory was astonishing, and Shigeru could feel his own becoming sharper as he absorbed all that the older man could tell him.

After two weeks of following his teacher’s movements daily and practicing on his own, Matsuda told him one morning to bring the poles to the training ground. Shigeru was amazed at how his muscles and coordination had improved. He had been considered a talented pupil in Hagi, but that boy had been clumsy and slow compared to what he had become. Now the pole became what the sword would be, an extension of his own arm and brain. It would move as fast as thought with all his strength behind the blow. And in its return it would be as flexible as his own muscles, as swiftly and easily manipulated as his own hand. Breathe in, breathe out. The emptiness of mind that he achieved in meditation he now entered into effortlessly. He did not think about whom he was in combat with; he forgot Matsuda was his teacher, was an illustrious warrior; he even put aside his overwhelming desire to outwit, outfight his opponent; he saw only the movements of the attack and his response in defense and counterattack.

IN THE LATE AFTERNOONS he explored the mountain paths, finding whatever wild food he could. Sometimes he thought he heard human movements or felt he was being watched, and once he came upon signs that someone had been digging up aconite, arum root, and bugloss. However, he saw no one in the forest, though every now and then a farmer or a village woman came from the hamlet with offerings of food. If they met, Matsuda would give them a blessing and urge them to drink from the spring, while Shigeru questioned them about their farms and crops, their weather predictions, their folktales and remedies. At first they were silenced by shyness, but as the weeks went by, they began to open up to him.

Matsuda teased him about it, saying he must have been a farmer in a former life.

“If we were only warriors, we would all starve,” Shigeru replied. “We should never forget who feeds us.”

“Already wiser than most warriors in Hagi,” Matsuda said, as if to himself.

“If there is to be war, I must be a warrior,” Shigeru said lightly. “But if peace prevails, I will be a farmer, and no one will go hungry in the entire Middle Country.”

The summer solstice came and then the days of the Great Festivals, but Matsuda gave no indication that they would return to the temple. A few days before the Festival of the Dead, two monks came from Terayama, bringing food, bags of rice and dried vegetables, a cask of pickles and one of salted fish. It seemed like a feast after the meager diet of the past weeks. They also brought news from Hagi of the good health of the Otori family and a letter from Takeshi.

“He asks if I have met any goblins,” Shigeru said, reading it eagerly. “He had a fall from Karasu, my black horse, and saw double for a day.” He felt the old anxiety threaten to rise and swallowed, willing it away. “I told him not to ride the black. He is barely broken and too strong for a child. I hope he is not hurt worse than he allows.”

They had brought no writing materials with them, so he could not write a reply, but the monks promised they would send messengers to Hagi to seek more news. They talked a little during the evening meal: events in the temple, the Abbot’s good health and spirits, the progress of the novices. The two visitors stayed the night and sat in silent meditation with Matsuda and Shigeru. The hut was too small for four, so Shigeru slept outside under the stars.

It was a sultry night and he slept lightly, his sleep broken by the hooting of owls, the croaking of frogs, whining mosquitoes; once a wolf howled in the distance, and just before dawn something padded past his head on soft paws; he opened his eyes to see a tanuki staring at him. When he moved, it slipped quickly under the hut.

He rose then and saw that the three men were awake-and must have been for some time, for they already sat in meditation. He joined them, drawing strength from the fading night and the growing daylight. He turned his thoughts to Takeshi and prayed his brother had recovered completely, though he wondered if any sort of prayer worked backward like that. Then he stilled his thoughts and concentrated on his breath.

When it was full daylight, Shigeru fetched water, blew gently on the embers of the fire and built it up, preparing the meal as he now did daily for Matsuda. With his plain hemp robe hitched into his belt, Shigeru looked no different from the monks, apart from his hair; he felt he could be one of them; the youngest, hence the servant. The visitors made little sign that they were astonished by the heir to the clan waiting humbly on them, though the younger one thanked him effusively and the older one shot one quick look at Matsuda, who smiled slightly in response. The two monks left immediately afterward, wasting no time, walking swiftly away down the path. It was already very hot, and thunder rolled in the distance where black clouds massed over the farthest ranges. The sky above was a deep purple-blue, the sun’s light bronze-tinged.

“Start your exercises now,” Matsuda said. “There will be storms before midday.”

He had thought himself tired, but the fatigue slipped away as he went through the familiar routine. Matsuda continued to meditate, but after about an hour had passed, he stood, hitched up his robe, and picked up the poles. Shigeru bowed to his teacher and took one of the poles, feeling the usual pleasure at its balanced weight and smoothness.

Thunder rolled again, closer this time. The air was charged with intensity, like lightning.

During the previous weeks, Matsuda’s attack had grown daily more aggressive. His control over the pole was so great Shigeru had no fear of being injured by him, but he had had enough slight blows and bruises to take each combat seriously. This day his teacher seemed even more ferocious. Twice the force of the onslaught drove Shigeru to the edge of the training ground. He felt the master was seeking something more from him, pushing him to his limits to get at some unawakened power. He could feel anger rising in him: a blow to the side of his neck smarted; the sun’s harsh light made his head ache and sweat was pouring from him, stinging his eyes.

The third bout was even more intense. Shigeru had thought till now that he trusted Matsuda not to hurt him, but suddenly the older man’s hostility seemed real. It shook his confidence as much as anything else. His trust in his teacher wavered and, once weakened, began to dissolve; previous tiny misgivings all joined together. He intends to kill me, Shigeru thought. He said he would go to Inuyama: He is in contact with the Iida. He will kill me here as if by accident and join Kitano and Noguchi in their treachery. The Otori will be overthrown, the Middle Country lost.

A fury rose in him such as he had never experienced before, so intense it wiped everything from his mind. And into the emptiness flowed the power he had not known he possessed until the moment when he realized that he was fighting for his life and everything he valued.

All reverence for Matsuda evaporated; any awe he might have felt for the older man disappeared. He attacked with single-mindedness. Matsuda parried the first stroke, but its force unbalanced him slightly. He turned it into a feint to regain his footing, but in that instant Shigeru circled so his teacher was on the downhill slope, the sun now in his eyes. He remembered the world’s power and saw how he could use it. He struck with all his strength and speed into the opening, hitting Matsuda on the side of the head with a crack as loud as thunder.

The old man grunted involuntarily and staggered. Shigeru dropped his pole, appalled at what he had done. “Master!”

Matsuda said, “I’m all right. Don’t worry.” Then his face went pale. Sweat stood out on his forehead. “I’d better sit down.”

Shigeru helped him to the veranda and lowered him down in the shade, fetching the quilts for him to lie on, bringing water to sponge the bruise, already swelling and black.

“Shouldn’t sleep,” Matsuda muttered. “Don’t let me go to sleep,” and promptly closed his eyes and started snoring.

Shigeru shook him. “Master, wake up! Don’t sleep!” But he could not rouse him.

He is going to die! I’ve killed him! His immediate thought was to get help. The monks had been gone for over an hour, but maybe if he ran… and shouted… they would hear him and return. They would know what to do. But should he leave Matsuda here alone? He had to decide at once, and to act seemed preferable to doing nothing. He turned the old man on his side, put a pile of clothes under his head, and covered him with a quilt. He filled a cup of water at the spring, wetted Matsuda’s lips, and left the cup near him.

Then he began to run down the mountain track, calling as he went, “Hey! Can anyone hear me? Come back! Come back!”

He had run blindly for about two miles before he realized it was useless. The monks had too long a start on him; he would never catch up with them. The sun shone with one last dazzling burst and then was swallowed up by the thunderclouds. Lightning flashed briefly, and afterward the world seemed to plunge into darkness. Thunder cracked overhead and almost immediately rain came pouring down.

Within moments he was soaked. Just as Matsuda had said, storms before midday. Shigeru now became even more worried about leaving the old man. He felt he must return to him. But as he turned to go back, he was no longer sure of where he was; the rain disoriented him, and it was several moments before he realized he had taken a wrong turn in his blind rush down the mountain. He tried to retrace his steps, but the track he had come down on was already running with water and with no sun to guide him, he could not be sure of the direction.

There was a tremendous crack ahead of him as lightning struck the top of a cedar. The tree lit up, crackling with fire, steaming as the rain doused the sparks. He halted for a moment, fearing the cedar might topple, but though split it did not fall. However, in the moment he stopped, he thought he saw through the rain a figure ahead, a man, sheltering beneath the overhang of a rock.

He called out, “Hey, help me, please. I’ve lost my way.”

The man turned his head in Shigeru’s direction. Their eyes met. The man vanished.

He hadn’t moved or run away. He had disappeared. One moment he was there; the next he was not.

I’ve seen a goblin, Shigeru thought, but at that moment he would take help even from one of hell’s demons. He ran on toward the rock, calling out as he went.

“Don’t go away! I need your help. My teacher is injured. I’ve lost my way and must get back to him.”

The rain fell in solid sheets from the lip of the rock; he stood for a moment in the shelter and wiped the water from his eyes. The noise of the storm drowned all other sounds, but he felt suddenly there was another person close to him. He reached out, and could not help crying out in shock as he touched living flesh and the flesh began to make itself seen, shimmering into being in the dim light.

It did not look like a goblin with staring eyes and a long nose, but it had to be something supernatural, some mountain spirit, or a restless ghost murdered in this place and unavenged. He saw a young man, perhaps seven or eight years older than himself, with a pale, mobile face and strange opaque eyes, which held both mockery and curiosity. Apart from the eyes, there was nothing exceptional about him: he wore ordinary clothes, a short jacket over a loincloth, his legs were bare, and a head cloth hid his hair; he did not seem to be armed, but Shigeru saw the right hand move closer to the chest and guessed there was a weapon hidden there.

He himself was completely unarmed in his sudden rush from the hut. But what weapons would be effective against this spirit of the mountain who could appear and disappear at will?

He forced himself to speak. “Whoever or whatever you are, please help me. My master is injured: I went to get help and am now lost. He is in the hut near the spring, where the shrine is.”

“Your master? Who is he?”

“Matsuda Shingen, from Terayama.”

“And who are you?”

“Just one of his novices. I beg you, show me the path.”

The man smiled slightly but made no response. He took a step backward and rain cascaded over him; he vanished again.

Shigeru fought back a cry of disappointment and stepped out into the rain, determined to retrace his steps and discover where he had gone wrong. However, a little way ahead of him he saw the dark figure reappear. It turned and beckoned to him.

“Follow me,” the man called.

They went straight up the slope along a narrow fox-track, occasionally dropping to all fours to clamber over rocks or through the undergrowth. The man kept well ahead, vanishing if Shigeru came too close but always reappearing again. It was like being led by a fox-and Shigeru wondered if he had indeed been enthralled by a fox-spirit and was being led into the spirit world. The pelting rain, the greenish light, the crack and roll of thunder, the silver blue streaks of lightning, all seemed to come from some other domain where the normal rules of life were broken and magic prevailed. His reality had been jolted, and it made him feel sick and dizzy, as if he had received a blow to the head. And what of Matsuda? What if he were already dead? He not only had injured his teacher; he had utterly failed to bring help to him.

They crossed a small ridge and began to descend, and suddenly Shigeru knew where he was. Not penetrating deeper and deeper into the spirit world but coming down toward the hut on a track he had often used before. He began to run, not knowing if he passed the spirit-man, only thinking, with bursting chest, of Matsuda.

The rain streamed from the eaves of the hut, churning the ground beneath, running in muddy eddies toward the pool. Matsuda lay on his side, exactly as Shigeru had left him, still asleep but no longer snoring.

Shigeru knelt beside him. The quilts were already wet and the old man’s skin felt clammy.

“Sir! Lord Matsuda!” He shook him gently. To his relief, Matsuda’s eyes flickered, but he did not waken.

There was a slight change in the pattern of the rainfall, and Shigeru’s guide stepped onto the veranda. Also kneeling, he felt for the pulse in the neck.

“What happened?”

“I hit him. We were practicing; he is teaching me the sword.”

“You hit Matsuda? What kind of a novice are you? You look like one of the Otori.”

“I am Otori Shigeru. I have been sent to Terayama for a year; it’s part of my education.”

“Lord Shigeru, I’m honored to meet you,” the man said, with a hint of irony. He did not offer his own name. Bending over Matsuda again, he opened the old man’s eyelids and peered into his eyes. Then he gently felt the contusion on the temple.

“I don’t think you broke the skull. You just knocked him out. He’ll wake up soon. I’ve got some herbs here-dried vervain and willow bark, and other things. Make a tea from them: it will stop the pain and the nausea. Make sure you stay with him. The danger is not so much from the blow as from choking afterward.” He took out a small bag and handed it to Shigeru.

“Thank you,” Shigeru said. “I am extremely grateful to you. Come to me when I return to Hagi and you will be rewarded.”

His voice trailed away; he felt foolish, for what reward could he offer a fox-spirit? Yet when the man was there, he seemed so real, human, and ordinary.

“Maybe one day I will come to Hagi.”

“You will always be welcome. Tell me your name.”

“I have many names. Sometimes people call me the Fox.” He laughed at Shigeru’s expression. “Take care of your teacher.” He bowed deeply, saying, “Lord Otori,” his tone both respectful and mocking. He vanished.

Shigeru carried Matsuda into the hut and set him down on the mattress, built up the fire, and fetched fresh water. He was soaked to the skin. He took off his clothes to dry them and sat naked by the fire until the water boiled. It was not cold; when the rain eased at the end of the afternoon, the heat returned, even more sultry than before.

Just before nightfall, Matsuda began to stir. He seemed to be in some pain. Shigeru quickly brewed the tea and helped the old man sit up and drink it. Matsuda did not speak but patted Shigeru’s hand as if to reassure him. Then he lay down again. The herbs took effect quickly. The old man slept deeply and calmly until dawn.

Shigeru dozed a little but mostly stayed awake thinking about the extraordinary events of the day. He no longer believed the stranger to be a supernatural being. Now that he was thinking more calmly, it was all too clear who the man was-he could only be from the Tribe. He had vanished and reappeared just as his father had described when speaking of the woman he had loved. What an amazing skill to have; how useful it would be; no wonder warlords like the Iida family used such men as spies. How vulnerable his own clan seemed. What defense could there be against such people? The encounter had ignited an intense curiosity in him to find out more about them, to discover how he could protect himself and his people against the Tribe-even if he might use them himself.

He hardly allowed himself to think about the most extraordinary event of all-that he had overcome his teacher in combat; he had knocked out Matsuda Shingen. It seemed even more impossible than the man who could go invisible.

The heat eased a little, a slight breeze sprang up, and birds began to herald the dawn. Shigeru sat cross-legged and began the morning meditation. When he opened his eyes, it was fully light and Matsuda was awake.

“I need to piss,” the old man said. “Help me outside.”

He walked a little unsteadily but otherwise seemed to have recovered. After relieving himself, he went to the spring and rinsed his mouth with water.

“Does your head hurt?” Shigeru said, helping him back to the hut.

“Not much now. Whatever it was you gave me last night worked.”

“I’m so sorry,” Shigeru began.

Matsuda said, “Don’t be sorry. Be proud of yourself. It’s quite an achievement. No one’s done that to me for a long time. Of course, I’m not as young as I used to be.”

“It was a fluke,” Shigeru said.

“I don’t think so. But who was here with you?”

“I met a man in the forest. I ran after the monks and took a wrong turn… There was a huge storm…”

“You were panicking, in other words,” Matsuda said.

“I thought I’d killed you!”

“If you had, it would only have served me right.” Matsuda laughed. “Nothing to panic about. Who was it, one of the villagers? I must get the ingredients of that tea.”

“I’d never seen him before. I wasn’t even sure he was human. He seemed more like a spirit. Then afterward I realized he must have been from the Tribe.”

“In Heaven’s name,” Matsuda said. “You gave me tea made by one of the Tribe? I’m lucky to be still alive.”

Shigeru thought of poison, thought of the signs he himself had seen of someone searching for aconite and arum, this man or someone like him.

“I’m a fool,” he said. “For some reason, I thought I could trust him.”

“You are too quick to trust,” Matsuda rejoined. “Still, it seems on this occasion no harm was done. That brew is a very effective painkiller. I’d like to know what’s in it.”

“He knew your name.”

“I don’t want to boast-a lot of people know my name. I am not popular with the Tribe. I’ve tried to keep them out of the temple. I don’t like spies. Did he use invisibility?”

Shigeru nodded. “How is it done?”

“It’s a trick, a way of moving that fools the eyes of the watcher. You can’t teach it-it’s inborn, like most of their skills. Training enhances them. From what I’ve heard, a lot of it is like meditation, emptying the mind and concentrating, though the Tribe use cruelty as a teaching tool to silence the conscience and eradicate compassion. They say that the Iida family use some of these methods with their sons, and that Sadamu in particular has benefited from them.”

“The Sadamu that also hoped to learn from you!” Shigeru said.

“Ah, I would never have gone to Inuyama. I don’t like the climate. Anyway, I don’t have to now. I am content with my Otori pupil. In fact, I’m very proud of you.”

“Even though I did everything wrong afterward! In the moment I overcame you, I saw you as a traitor,” Shigeru confessed. “I thought you were part of a conspiracy… It’s too stupid to think about.”

“I was pushing you as hard as I could. I knew there was more in you than you had allowed me to see till now. You have a trusting nature, Lord Shigeru; it’s a virtue but only up to a point. Now you know how to unleash your true power, through suspicion of betrayal and the pure rage that came from it. You can practice on your own today. You have to summon up by will what you discovered through emotion. I am going to rest.”

“We should return to the temple,” Shigeru said, looking at his teacher’s pale face and the growing bruise. “They can take care of you there.”

“It’s not time yet,” Matsuda replied. “I’ll rest for a couple of days; we will spend the Festival of the Dead here and return to the temple before the autumn storms, unless I am summoned earlier. Our Abbot’s health is fragile, as you know. If he should die, I would have to return at once.

“Now we have talked for far too long. We will spend the rest of the day in silence. You can prepare a little soup and then begin your exercises.”

There were many things Shigeru longed to talk about: his thoughts were chasing one another around in his mind. He realized he craved praise, reassurance, and knew that Matsuda had already given him as much as he was going to. He opened his mouth to say, “Just one more question,” but Matsuda silenced him. “I suggest meditation first, to still your thoughts.”

While he meditated, he looked dispassionately at his actions, seeking to learn from them. He recognized the ability that lay behind his swordplay, as clearly as he saw the immaturity of character that had led to his panic and confusion. Gradually his thoughts calmed, his mind emptied.

In the evening he went out to collect mushrooms for the meal, half hoping to see the man from the Tribe again-the Fox, he thought, smiling. So the Fox roamed these mountains, collecting herbs for medicine and poison. His curiosity had been aroused as much by the man himself as by the mysteries of the Tribe.

I’ll know him if I see him again, he told himself, and felt they would meet again, as if there were some bond between them from a former life. I must find out more about the Tribe, maybe even use them, as the Tohan do.

However, he did not see the Fox again; nor were there any signs of the man’s presence. Matsuda recovered and resumed their daily combats. Shigeru learned to use his newfound strength with greater accuracy; he frequently dominated his teacher but never again struck him so hard.

They spent the days of the Festival of the Dead in fasting and meditation. It was the first time Shigeru had spent this solemn festival away from his family. His father alternated visits to the temples of Tokoji and Daishoin in Hagi and to Yamagata and Terayama. This year he would stay in Hagi. Shigeru pictured his brother and their friends setting lanterns adrift in paper boats on the river, watching the tide take them far out to sea. He saw the view of the bay, the islands rising jagged from the water, lanterns casting their gold light in the blue haze, and felt a pang of homesickness for the place he loved so much.

The forest around him was no less beautiful: he had come to love it, too, as he explored it more, knowing it better; but it was lonely, empty of humankind, and on the nights when the dead revisit the living, it seemed even more solitary.

Lights glimmered in the distance where the villagers lit huge fires to show their dead the way home. Shigeru also made a fire outside the hut, but he did not expect to see his ancestors. They would be where their graves were, in Hagi or at Terayama. Not even the dead would visit them here.

He and Matsuda had hardly spoken for days: combat, exercise, meditation, and the daily chores had all been conducted in silence. So on the second night of the festival Shigeru was surprised when, instead of sleeping immediately after the evening meal, Matsuda told him to light the lamp and make fresh tea.

“We will talk for a while.”

They moved outside onto the small veranda. It was a clear night: the Bear and the Hunter blazed above their heads. Shigeru fetched fresh water and lit an oil lamp with a wood shaving from the fire. He served his teacher and then sat cross-legged on the floor, waiting to hear what Matsuda had to say to him.

“You had many questions before,” Matsuda said. “You may ask them now.”

“I have been thinking about the dead,” Shigeru said. “Are they reborn immediately or do their spirits live on? They revisit us each year-where do they dwell in between? When we worship our ancestors, do they see and hear us?”

“We revere our ancestors as if they still lived,” Matsuda replied. “And we treat all living things with compassion, for into them our own ancestors might have been reborn. The fate from our past lives influences our present life, just as this life will influence our future. We can escape the cycle of birth and death by following the teachings of the Enlightened One. But you are called to another path; you will be the head of an ancient and powerful clan. The safety and well-being of many will lie in your hands. You have to live in the world with all its deceptions and dangers.

“It is no small thing to be born Otori. Your family are the most illustrious in the Three Countries, whatever the Iida may think of themselves. Your lineage is the most ancient: you share the blood of the imperial family. The strengths of your family are courage, compassion, warmth of feeling, fair-mindedness; their weaknesses are recklessness, softheartedness, infatuation, and indecision.”

“Each weakness is the shadow of each strength,” Shigeru said quietly.

“Yes, indeed. You must see how your father’s sense of justice too often leads him into indecisiveness. He sees everyone’s point of view and wants to appear fair to them all. Possibly he cares too much about what people think of him. He desires his brothers’ good opinion-in return, they despise him.”

“Are they also traitors?”

“I believe they would be if they had more courage.”

“If the Tohan are preparing for war, how can we protect the Middle Country?”

“By defeating them. There is no other way. Your father does not want to fight; your uncles are in favor of making concessions in return for peace.”

“What sort of concessions?”

“Ceding territory, for example.”

“Giving up parts of the Middle Country to the Tohan? It’s unthinkable.”

“Many are already thinking it. It’s up to you to persuade them otherwise.”

“I should return to Hagi at once.”

Matsuda chuckled. “Now you are going to have to learn patience.”

Shigeru took a deep breath. His temper had been rising throughout the conversation. Disloyalty, treachery seemed to him the greatest of crimes, and the suspicion that they flourished within his own family made his gullet burn with rage. “If you tell me I must, I will,” he conceded reluctantly.

“Stay, as planned, through the winter. When you return, you will be sixteen. You will have your coming-of-age ceremony and become an adult. You will have more influence then on the elders and your father.”

“Can the elders be trusted?”

“Irie, Mori, Nagai-I would stake my life on their loyalty. Endo and Miyoshi are pragmatists. Their loyalty is first to the clan, and so they will support whoever leads it. When you do return, you must be on your guard. If you advise war with the Tohan, the opposite faction will be tempted to eliminate you, and they will have the backing of the Tohan. Be careful whom you trust. And try not to let anyone from the Tribe into your life.”

“It must be almost impossible to recognize them,” Shigeru said, smiling ruefully.

“They are human. Despite their almost supernatural skills they die like any other man. I believe they can be identified and overcome.”

“My enemy is double-an aggressive, ambitious clan and a tribe of assassins.”

“But you meet them with double weapons-your own character and the love and loyalty of your people.”

“Will these be enough to prevail?”

Matsuda laughed again. “I cannot see into the future. I only know these are enough to start with. You may sleep if you wish now. I will sit for a while in the company of the dead.”

Shigeru was not tired and wanted to keep his teacher talking. “I know nothing of your life, your family,” he said. “Do you have sons, did you ever marry?”

“Of course I married, when I was a young man. My wife died many years ago. We had several children, but none survived childhood. And as far as I know, I have no living offspring. My children are my pupils, the monks who are in my care. I hope I will die and be buried at Terayama.”

“And what made you give up your life as a warrior when you were the greatest fighter the Three Countries has ever known?”

“No one is the greatest,” Matsuda said. “There will always be another greater than you or with greater potential. All my energy and years of my life had gone into one thing-to become an expert in the art of death. It is a terrible thing to imagine oneself the greatest: it gives rise to pride in oneself, envy in others. Young men sought me out to challenge me. I became tired of their foolishness and their courage.” He fell silent. The night insects droned loudly; frogs croaked.

“I killed once too often. I did not want to feel that regret again. I came to Terayama ten years ago, at this same time of year. I never left. I did not want to live in the world any longer. But the world does not leave us alone. It is always calling at the door. Only the Enlightened One led a life free of error. The rest of us make mistakes and then have to live with them. Now, go to bed.”

“I will sit with you and keep you and the dead company,” Shigeru said. “If you will permit it.”

Matsuda smiled and nodded, then dowsed the lamp. They sat silently without moving as the vast starry heaven wheeled above them.