Heaven's Net Is Wide

38

Shigeru took up traveling again, in unmarked clothes with his face hidden, taking care to change his appearance on every new journey, hoping to avoid recognition. In the course of the year, the new boundaries were established more firmly and barriers set up at bridges and crossroads. The Otori had lost the whole of the South and had been pushed back from the East into a narrow strip along the coast. Shigeru walked through all the remaining territory, knowing it intimately, talking to the farmers, feeling that they often suspected who he was but knew how to keep his secret. He learned about how they organized village life, who the headmen were, their indomitable readiness to confront their lords with their grievances.

When the plum rains put an end to his travels early in the sixth month, he spent the days making careful records of everything he had seen and heard, working until deep into the night with Ichiro.

Late one afternoon, as the rain fell steadily on the roof, dripping from the eaves, trickling down the chains, filling the new ponds in the garden, Chiyo appeared and told him a visitor had arrived.

“On a day like this?” Ichiro muttered. “He must be a madman.”

Chiyo, who with her increasing age and the new informality of the household had become ever more familiar, said, “Certainly, rather an unusual caller, if not a madman. He looks like some kind of merchant, but he asked for Lord Shigeru as if he were an old friend.”

“What is his name?” Shigeru said, only half paying attention.

“Muto,” Chiyo replied.

“Ah.” Shigeru finished the sentence he was writing and laid down his brush. He flexed his fingers for a moment. “You had better show him in.”

Chiyo looked reluctant. “He’s very wet,” she said.

“Then prepare a bath and find dry clothes for him. We will eat together in the upper room. And bring wine,” he added.

“Who is it?” Ichiro inquired.

“Someone I met last year. I’ll tell you about him later. But I want to talk to him alone first.”

“IT’S BEEN A LONG TIME,” Kenji said as he came into the upstairs room. “Thank you for your hospitality.”

“It’s the least I can do, in return for yours,” Shigeru replied. “I’m glad to see you. You said you would send someone to me, but I’m assuming you changed your mind?”

“Unh.” Kenji nodded. “It seemed best not to draw attention to you. It’s been a hard year for everyone. You were obviously reducing your household anyway. It might have been difficult to place someone new.”

“So I’m not currently employing one of your members?” Shigeru said, smiling.

“No, but Iida would be happier if you were!”

“Iida may as well forget about me: he has rendered me impotent against him.”

“Hmm.” Kenji made another of his expressive grunts. “That may be how you present yourself to the world, but don’t forget you are now talking to the man who delivered your father’s sword to you and who heard it speak.” He gestured toward the sword in its stand at the end of the room. “You have not given it up, I see.”

“I will only hand it over to my heir when my death is inevitable,” Shigeru replied. “But I am not seeking revenge. All that is behind me. I have become a farmer.” He smiled blandly at Kenji.

“Nevertheless, Iida is still very concerned with you. Almost obsessed, you might say. It’s as if some invisible thread binds you to him. He seeks information about you constantly. He is tormented by the fact that he only defeated the Otori through treachery. He won the battle but lost his honor.”

Shigeru said lightly, “Is there any real honor among warriors anymore? These days, all men seize opportunities to advance themselves and justify their actions afterward. The Tohan chroniclers can write Iida Sadamu’s version of events and make him the undisputed hero of Yaegahara.”

“I agree with you completely,” Kenji said. “My work, after all, involves me intimately with the dark side of the warrior class. But men with the immense vanity of Iida want to appear honorable while acting dishonorably. It’s beginning to dawn on him that he will never win that battle with you. And there are already many balladeers in the Three Countries making up songs about it!”

“I’m flattered,” Shigeru replied. “But it in no way changes my situation. I have lost everything, except for this house and a small estate.”

“And the high regard and undiminished devotion of your country-men,” Kenji said, studying Shigeru intently. “You haven’t heard of ‘Loyalty to the Heron’?”

“What is it?” It was not uncommon for groups to spring up under such names: Narrow Paths of the Snake, Rage of the White Tiger, usually made up of young men who decided to use their intelligence and ability to challenge the accepted order and renew the world. Peasants and farmers banded together with low-ranking warriors to form leagues to defend their fields and farms and to put pressure on their landlords.

“It’s a supposedly secret group that’s spreading through the Middle Country; they swear to support you when you challenge your uncles, as they all hope you will.”

“I’m gratified for their support, but I can only disappoint them,” Shigeru said. “To challenge my uncles would bring civil war and destroy the Otori.”

“At the moment, perhaps. But you are not yet twenty years old, and you have patience.”

“You know a great deal about me,” Shigeru said, laughing as if the idea amused him.

“I hear about you,” Kenji said. “I was sorry to learn of your wife’s death. Do you plan to marry again?”

“No, never,” Shigeru replied abruptly. “I had hoped to have children, but I’ve realized their existence would only threaten my uncles further, and they would become hostages, if not in reality then to fate. I cannot bear any more losses. Besides, I have my brother: I must act like a father to him now.”

“Well, keep an eye on him. He is in even greater danger than you, as are all your family and anyone you care for. Iida will do anything he can to humiliate you, demonstrate his power over you, and cause you pain.” Kenji fell silent for a moment, then said quietly but deliberately, “Be very careful. Change your routines. Go nowhere alone. Always be armed.”

“Iida can ignore me,” Shigeru said, pretending indifference but noting the warning nonetheless. “I have given up the way of the sword.”

“Yet you still teach your brother and continue your own practice.”

“My brother needs to be kept occupied. I may be a farmer now, but Takeshi is a warrior’s son. He must have the education of a warrior before he comes of age. Then he can choose his own way.” Shigeru went on: “You seem to know all my activities. Do you have spies watching me all the time?”

“No, not at the moment,” Kenji replied. “I only hear what’s already spread on the wind. I keep my ears open, that’s all.” He sounded sincere, and Shigeru wanted to trust him, wanted to have this unusual and attractive man as his friend.

“What brings you to Hagi?” he said.

“I have relatives here. You probably know the brewery run by Muto Yuzuru.”

It was a little morsel of information, offered almost like a gift. Shigeru nodded. “Your family are involved in wine-making, then?”

“Runs in our veins instead of blood,” Kenji said. Shigeru poured him another cup, which he downed in one gulp. “I myself make soybean products-paste and sauce, in Yamagata. Most of our families are involved in one or the other.”

“And did you come to see me with any special purpose?”

“Not really. Just dropped in. I believe it is what friends do.” Kenji was grinning.

“It has not been within my experience so far,” Shigeru admitted. “I have been isolated from such everyday pleasures. Sometimes I feel like Shakyamuni before his enlightenment. He knew nothing of suffering or death, he had been shielded from them. But it was not until he lived in the world that his compassion was awakened.” He broke off and apologized. “Forgive me. I did not mean to compare myself in any way to the Enlightened One or to become so serious. One of the consolations of my new standing in life may be ordinary friendships like this. Though, of course, I am not suggesting that there is anything ordinary about you!”

“Just a humble merchant, as you are a farmer!” Kenji replied.

“Let’s drink to the friendship between them. The farmer and the merchant!”

They both emptied their cups and refilled them.

“What other news do you have?” Shigeru asked.

“You may be interested to hear that Arai Daiichi was forced to submit to Iida. He’s been dispatched to serve Noguchi in the new castle Iida’s building for him.”

“Did your niece go with him?”

“Shizuka? Yes, she’s living in the town. They had a child, you know?”

Shigeru shook his head.

“A boy. They called him Zenko.”

Shigeru emptied his cup, poured more wine, and drank to hide his emotion. She had betrayed him; she was rewarded with a son! “Will Arai acknowledge him as his heir?”

“I doubt it. Anyway, Shizuka’s children belong to the Tribe. Arai’s younger than you. He’ll marry and have legitimate children. He would have been married by now, but the Three Countries have been in chaos since Yaegahara. The Western allegiances are all up in the air. They won’t fight Iida, but they’ll make life difficult for him. He’s demanding concessions: the Shirakawa will probably have to give up their daughters as hostages; the Maruyama offended the Tohan by their refusal to attack the Otori from the West. Lady Maruyama’s husband died in the autumn, just after the birth of his son, and the son died recently. She’ll probably have to give up her daughter too.”

“Poor woman,” Shigeru said, after a moment’s silence. He was amazed and grateful to her for her staunchness.

“If she were a man, she would have paid for her defiance with her life, but since she’s a woman, Sadamu doesn’t really take her seriously. My prediction is he will marry either her or her daughter in order to claim the domain.”

“But he must already be married, at his age?”

“Yes, he is married, but there are many ways to get rid of a wife.”

Shigeru did not reply, reminded again sharply of the fragility of women and the weeks of mourning Moe.

“Forgive me,” Kenji said, his tone of voice changing. “I should not have spoken so, given your circumstances.”

“It is the reality of the world,” Shigeru said. “Iida is an expert in such marriage politics. I wish my father had been as skilled!” Surely Lady Maruyama will never marry Iida, he thought.

After Kenji had departed the following morning, Shigeru went to Ichiro’s room and took out a fresh scroll. It continued to rain, though not as heavily; the air smelled of mold, moist and humid.

Muto Yuzuru, he wrote. Brewer in Hagi.

Muto Kenji, the Fox, soybean-product manufacturer in Yamagata.

Muto Shizuka, his niece, concubine and spy.

Her son by Arai Daiichi, Zenko.

He looked at these sparse pieces of information for some time. Then he added: Kikuta woman (name unknown).

Her son by Otori Shigemori (name unknown).

He rolled the scroll inside one on crop rotation and hid it in the bottom of a chest.