Heaven's Net Is Wide

27

Snow fell over the Three Countries, turning the landscape white, covering the forests with the heavy blossoms of winter, muffling sound and masking color, putting an end to all outdoor activity from farming to war.

It fell on Inuyama, where Iida Sadamu planned his spring campaigns; on the temple at Terayama, where Otori Takeshi chafed against the bitter cold and the harsh discipline; on Maruyama, where Lady Naomi realized she was expecting another child; on the plain of Yaegahara, where only wolves and foxes left their tracks; on Kushimoto, where Shigeru’s wife, Moe, refused to answer her mother’s probing questions about marriage and grandchildren, listened to her father’s fears about the coming war, and hoped war would come and that her husband would be killed in it, for she could see no other honorable escape from her marriage.

The snow filled Akane with delight, for it would keep Shigeru in Hagi and his wife in Kushimoto. She loved winter, despite the cold and the hardship; she loved the look of the snow-covered roofs, the icicles hanging from the eaves, the icy branches of trees etched delicately against the pale winter sky. The hot spring baths were even more pleasing when the air was freezing and snow melted on hair and skin. And what could be more pleasurable than the warmth of her lover’s body on a cold night under piles of quilts when the snow fell too heavily for him to go home?

She was glad that Moe was away and that there was no sign of reconciliation or, more importantly, of a child. The longer the marriage went without producing a child, she reasoned, the greater were her chances of being permitted to bear one. For Shigeru had to have heirs for the continuity of his family and the stability of the clan. She had to time it right, to find herself pregnant at just the right moment, and then to give him a son.

When the weather permitted, she went to see the old man, taking him charcoal and padded clothes, hot stews and tea. And she brought back secretly the gifts he gave her in return: mummified roots like half-formed embryos, dried leaves and seeds with a bitter taste, tassels woven from human hair, all charms to help her capture Shigeru’s love and protect the child that would be born from it.

She shared, for different reasons, Shigeru’s eagerness to see Lord Shoichi and Lord Masahiro leave the city, and she was angry and disappointed when their departure was prevented by the first snows. Masahiro had not contacted her again, but she was aware that he had her watched, and that sooner or later he would demand another payment for his leniency toward Hayato’s family.

Her unease about this was increased by some indefinable change in Shigeru’s attitude toward her. There was no indication that the charms were working-it would be more true to say the opposite. She told herself it was because of the preoccupations of politics and war, that she could not expect him to remain the passionate boy who had been on the brink of falling in love with her. He still took delight in her company, was indeed still passionate in bed, but she knew he was not in love with her despite all the charms she had tried to bind him with. He came to her frequently-Kiyoshige was away in Chigawa, Lord Irie still in the South, Takeshi at Terayama, and he had few companions-and they talked as they always had, yet she felt he was withholding something from her: he was growing away from her. She did not think she would ever see him weep again.

Their relationship settled into what it was supposed to be: she could not complain about it; she had accepted it, knowing what it was to be; no one had rushed her or forced her, yet she had hoped for much more and now the new coolness in Shigeru’s attitude inflamed her love for him. She had told herself she would never make the mistake of falling in love, but she found herself consumed by her need for him, her desire for his child, her craving for his love. She did not dare express it or even speak to him about jealousy anymore. When he was not with her, she longed for him with physical anguish; when they were together, the thought of his leaving was as painful as if her arm were being wrenched from her body. Yet she gave no sign of her feelings, telling herself she must enjoy what she had, how great her fortune was compared to that of many. There was no doubt it was a convenient arrangement for him; it gave him a great amount of pleasure with very little cost or pain. But he was the heir to the clan, she a nobody, not even a warrior’s daughter. And wasn’t the world arranged for the convenience and pleasure of men? She visited Haruna from time to time to remind herself of this. Haruna returned her visits and once brought Hayato’s widow and her sons to thank Akane. The boys were intelligent and good-looking. She thought they would be kind, like their father. She became interested in their welfare and sent the family gifts. She had saved their lives-in a way, they became her children.

She went to the stone bridge at least once a week to take offerings to her father and to listen to his voice in the icy water as the tide pulled it through the arches. One bleak afternoon, when the light was fading fast, she stepped from her palanquin and walked to the center of the bridge, her maid following her with a red umbrella, for a few flakes of snow were falling.

The tide prevented ice from forming on the surface of the river, but the ground on the banks was frozen hard and the rushes were stiff with frost and frozen snow. Someone had placed winter oranges in front of the stone, and they were also frozen solid, embedded in the crusted snow, tiny ice particles glinting against their bright color in the last of the light.

She took a flask of wine from the maid and poured it into a cup, tipped a few drops out onto the ground and drank the rest herself. The wind off the water brought tears to her eyes, and she allowed herself to weep for a few moments, for her father, for herself, in their imprisonment.

She could not help being aware of the picture it must make-the red umbrella, the woman bent over in grief-and wished somehow Shigeru might be watching her while she was unaware of his gaze.

As she clapped her hands and bowed to her father’s spirit, she realized that someone was watching her from the other side of the bridge. There were a few people in the streets, hurrying home before nightfall, heads bent against the snow, which was falling more heavily now. One or two of them glanced at Akane and called out a respectful greeting, but none of them lingered, except this one man.

As she returned to the palanquin, he crossed the street and walked beside her for the last few paces. She stopped and looked directly at him; she did not know his name but recognized him as one of Masahiro’s retainers. She felt the sudden thud in the pulse of throat and temple as her heart seemed to plummet.

“Lady Akane,” the man said. “Lord Masahiro sends you his greetings.”

“I have nothing to say to him,” she replied hastily.

“He has a request to make of you. He instructed me to give you this.” He drew a small package from his sleeve, wrapped in an ivory-and-purple-colored cloth.

She hesitated for a moment, then took it abruptly and handed it to the maid. The man bowed to her and walked away.

“Let us hurry home,” Akane said. “It is so cold.” She was indeed chilled to the bone.

By the time they arrived at the house, night had already fallen. The wind soughed in the pine trees, and a dull moaning came from the waves on the beach. Suddenly Akane was sick of winter, sick of the endless snow and the cold. She gazed briefly around the colorless garden. Surely the plum, at least, would be in blossom? But the branches were still dark-the only whiteness snow and frost. She hurried into the house, calling for the maids to bring braziers and more lamps. She craved light and warmth, sunshine, color, and flowers.

When she was a little warmer, she told the girl to bring Masahiro’s package. She untied the knot and slipped the silk wrapping away. Inside was a fan: she had seen similar ones at Haruna’s establishment. It was exquisitely painted: on one side, a woman in a spring robe gazed at wisteria flowers; on the other side, the robe had fallen open-the scene was less delicate.

She was not shocked by the fan. The painting was beautifully executed and pleasingly erotic in mood. At any other time she would have been thrilled with this gift. The artist was well known and widely admired; the fans were collected avidly: they were extremely expensive. It was not something she wanted to receive from a man like Masahiro, but she could not bring herself to send it back or to throw it away. She wrapped it up again and told the maid to put it in the storeroom. She could not help thinking that she might have need of such treasures one day, when Shigeru tired of her or if he died…

Then she took up the letter that came with the present.

Masahiro wrote in couched sentences: an inquiry after her health, a desire to hear her news, comments about the harsh weather and how he worried for his children when there was so much sickness around, a warmly expressed hope that they might have the pleasure of meeting soon, and his most humble and heartfelt regards to his nephew. She told the maid to bring the charcoal brazier outside into the garden, and wrapping herself in a silky fur robe, she tore the letter up and fed it piece by piece into the flames. The garden seemed full of sadness and ghosts; a sleety snow was falling against the smoke. Akane felt haunted by her dead lover and by her own sorcery. The charms by which she had closed Moe’s womb lay a few paces from her, buried in the frozen ground. Hayato, too, lay in the cold earth, along with the children they might have had together.

Even when the letter had been reduced to ash, indistinguishable from the sleet, she felt its veiled hypocritical phrases coil around her heart.

What did Lord Masahiro really want? Were he and his brother seriously seeking to usurp Shigeru? Or were his actions merely those of a malicious and inquisitive man who, deprived of real power, liked to play these spiteful games? She read his message without difficulty: the references to “news” and “children” were all too clear. She wished she had not met the boys: their faces with their smooth childish skin and clear eyes rose before her, as demanding as their father’s ghost. They had found their way into her heart; she could not sacrifice them now.

She wondered if she should tell Shigeru of his uncle’s demands but feared too much losing his good opinion of her or, worse, losing him altogether. If he suspected her of spying on him or of compromising him in any way, she knew he would stop seeing her; and now his love and need for her were diminishing. She would be shamed in front of the whole city; she would never recover. I must continue to play them both, she thought. It should not be too hard: they are only men, after all.

When she returned inside, she was shivering, and it took a long time to get warm.

THROUGHOUT THE WINTER she delivered snippets to Masahiro that she thought might keep him interested. Some she made up; some were loosely based on what she gleaned from Shigeru. None, she thought, was of any great importance.