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Toranaga had accepted the sword. It seemed to quiver with malevolence in his hand. He had always scoffed at the legend that certain swords possessed a killing urge of their own, that some swords needed to leap out of the scabbard to drink blood, but now Toranaga believed it.
Now sleep. Karma is karma. Be thou of Zen. Remember, in tranquillity, that the Absolute, the Tao, is within thee, that no priest or cult or dogma or book or saying or teaching or teacher stands between Thou and It. Know that Good and Evil are irrelevant, I and Thou irrelevant, Inside and Outside irrelevant as are Life and Death. Enter into the Sphere where there is no fear of death nor hope of afterlife, where thou art free of the impediments of life or the needs of salvation. Thou art thyself the Tao. Be thou, now, a rock against which the waves of life rush in vain . . .
‘Good, Anjin-san. Karma is the beginning of knowledge. Next is patience. Patience is very important. The strong are the patient ones, Anjin-san. Patience means holding back your inclination to the seven emotions: hate, adoration, joy, anxiety, anger, grief, fear. If you don’t give way to the seven, you’re patient, then you’ll soon understand all manner of things and be in harmony with Eternity.’ ”
we only called it Shinto, the Way of the Kami, a thousand years ago, to distinguish it from Butsudo, the Way of Buddha. But though it’s indefinable Shinto is the essence of Japan and the Japanese, and though it possesses neither theology nor godhead nor faith nor system of ethics, it is our justification for existence. Shinto is a nature cult of myths and legends in which no one believes wholeheartedly, yet everyone venerates totally. A person is Shinto in the same way he is born Japanese.”
He leaned forward, his left fist characteristically bunched on his thigh, the other tight on his sword. “Listen. I uphold the Taikō’s testament and acknowledge my nephew Yaemon as Kwampaku and heir to the Taikō. I desire no other lands. I want no other honors. But if traitors attack me I must defend myself. If traitors dupe His Imperial Highness and attempt to assume power in the land, it is my duty to defend the Emperor and banish evil. Neh?”
She had not been prepared for what soon became obvious: clearly the Anjin-san desired the Lady Toda, though he hid it as well as any civilized person could hide it. This in itself was not surprising, for the Lady Toda was most beautiful and accomplished and, most important, she alone could talk with him. What astounded her was that she was certain the Lady Toda desired him equally, if not more. The barbarian samurai and the Lady samurai, patrician daughter of the assassin Akechi Jinsai, wife of Lord Buntaro! Eeeee! Poor man, poor woman. So sad. Surely this must end in tragedy.
Felicity. Dear Felicity. A bath once a month perhaps, and then in summer, very private, in the copper tub, but washing her face and hands and feet every day, always hidden to the neck and wrists, swathed in layers of heavy woolens all year long that were unwashed for months or years, reeking like everyone, lice-infested like everyone, scratching like everyone. And all the other stupid beliefs and superstitions, that cleanliness could kill, open windows could kill, water could kill and encourage flux or bring in the plague, that lice and fleas and flies and dirt and disease were God’s
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Then he remembered what Mariko had told him about compartments of the mind: ‘Be Japanese, Anjin-san, you must, to survive. Do what we do, surrender yourself to the rhythm of karma unashamed. Be content with the forces beyond your control. Put all things into their own separate compartments and yield to wa, the harmony of life. Yield, Anjin-san, karma is karma, neh?’
Ah, men and women. So predictable. Especially men. Babies always. Vain, difficult, terrible, petulant, pliant, horrible—marvelous most rarely—but all born with that single incredible redeeming feature that we in the trade refer to as the Jade Root, Turtle Head, Yang Peak, Steaming Shaft, Male Thruster, or simply Piece of Meat.
Admittedly she’s rightfully become a Lady of the First Class, as her unique artistry merits. But she’s still a courtesan and some clients expect to enjoy her on the pillow as well as through her art. I believe two classes of Ladies should be created. First, courtesans, as always—amusing, happy, physical. Second, a new class, perhaps gei-sha could describe them: Art Persons—persons dedicated solely to art. Gei-shas would not be expected to go to the pillow as part of their duty.
How baffling it was that even the most cunning and clever people would frequently see only what they wanted to see, and would rarely look beyond the thinnest of facades. Or they would ignore reality, dismissing it as the facade. And then, when their whole world fell to pieces and they were on their knees slitting their bellies or cutting their throats, or cast out into the freezing world, they would tear their topknots or rend their clothes and bewail their karma, blaming gods or kami or luck or their lords or husbands or vassals—anything or anyone—but never themselves.
“Please excuse my bluntness, Father, but if the King of Kings had not died like a common criminal on the cross, samurai could accept—” “Stop!” “—Christianity more easily. The Society’s wise to avoid preaching Christ crucified like the other Orders—”
“I renounce the Christian God! I’m Japanese—I’m Shinto. My soul’s my own now. I’m not afraid,” Joseph shouted. “Yes, we’ve pride—unlike barbarians. We’re Japanese, we’re not barbarians. Even our peasants are not barbarians.”
He scrubbed and broomed and brushed until everything was spotless,
“Yes, I hated him that night,” Buntaro continued in the same calm voice, “and wanted him dead—and you and Fujiko-san. My bow whispered to me, like it does sometimes, asking for a killing. And when, the next dawn, I saw him coming down the hill with those cowardly little pistols in his hands, my arrows begged to drink his blood. But I put his killing off and humbled myself, hating my bad manners more than him,
Those incompetents will have eight years of rule before Yaemon’s of age if Lord Toranaga dies. Why not give Lord Toranaga the eight years—he’s Minowara! He’s said a thousand times he’ll hand over power to Yaemon. Is your brain in your arse? Toranaga’s not Yaemon’s enemy or yours!”
There’s not much time left to decide about this, or about the other new secrets: about the guns and arms hidden by the peasants in Anjiro for instance, or about the new Musket Regiment—its numbers, officers, organization, and number of guns. Or about Toranaga, who, the last night in Yokosé, pillowed Kiku pleasantly, using a classic “six shallow and five deep” rhythm for the hundred thrusts with the strength of a thirty-year-old and slept till dawn like a babe. That’s not the pattern of a man distraught with worry, neh?
or the words Zataki muttered in his sleep that his pillow partner memorized and sold to me the next day for a whole silver chojin, words that implied General Ishido and Lady Ochiba ate together, slept together, and that Zataki himself had heard them grunting and groaning and crying out as Yang pierced Yin even up to the Far Field! Gyoko smiled to herself smugly. Shocking, neh, people in such high places!
Do you use poison a lot in your countries?” “Sometimes. Some people do. It’s a filthy way.” “Yes, but very effective. It happens here too.” “Terrible, isn’t it, not being able to trust anyone.” “Oh, no, Anjin-san, so sorry,” she answered. “That’s just one of life’s most important rules—no more, no less.”
His chest began to ache, he became weak and dizzy, so he sat down and breathed deeply as the Zen teachers had taught him years ago. ‘Ten deep, ten slow, ten deep, ten slow, send your mind into the Void. There is no past or future, hot or cold, pain or joy—from nothing, into nothing . . .’
I’m too tired, he told himself. But not too tired to answer a simple question, his mind said: Are they really ignorant fools, or is it you who are fooling yourself? I’ll answer that later, when it’s time. Now the answer’s unimportant. Now I only know I don’t want them near me. He turned over and put that problem into a compartment and went to sleep.
I’ve got to find out what the doctor used, he thought excitedly. That’s the quickest and the best healing I’ve ever seen. Every master of every one of Her Majesty’s ships should know that secret—yes, and truly, every captain of every ship in Europe. Wait a moment, wouldn’t every master pay golden guineas for that secret? You could make a fortune! Yes. But not that way, he told himself, never that. Never out of a sailor’s agony.
Yabu would have pressed her but the bath tempted him, and in truth, he was filled with a pleasing lassitude he had not felt in many a day. Part of it was due to Toranaga’s deference this morning, part to the generals’ deference over the last few days. But most of it was due to the killing, the ripple of joy that had rushed from sword to arm to head. Ah, to kill so cleanly, man to man—in front of men—that’s a joy given to so few, so rarely. Rare enough to be appreciated and savored.
“So sorry, Yabu-sama,” Mariko said, and thought, how tiresome men are, they need everything explained in such detail. They can’t even see the hairs on their own eyelids.
“I do not like to see fire in thee. Or venom. Or crossness. Where is thy tranquillity? And where are thy manners? Perhaps thou should learn to watch the rocks growing. Neh?”
The captain of the Grays pointed at Blackthorne’s sword. “Is that Oil Seller, Anjin-san?” “Yes, Captain.” “May I be allowed to see the blade?” Blackthorne drew the sword part way from its scabbard. Custom decreed a sword should not be totally drawn unless it was to be used.
In the crowd, a child was hiding his eyes in his mother’s skirts. Gently she pried him away and knelt. “Please watch, my son,” she murmured. “You are samurai.”
Her courage had shown him the uselessness of that fear and he had come to terms with himself long ago, on that night in the village with the knife. I meant to drive the knife into my heart that night. Since then my fear of death’s been obliterated, just as she said it would be. ‘Only by living at the edge of death can you understand the indescribable joy of life.’ I don’t remember Omi stopping the thrust, only feeling reborn when I awoke the next dawn.
God forgive me, I did not go to Mariko-chan to be her second, which was my Christian duty. The heretic helped her and lifted her up as the Christ Jesus helped others and lifted them up, but I, I forsook her. Who’s the Christian?
Dell’Aqua held on to his temper. “You’re ordered to leave. Or you will be excommunicated.” “Jesuit threats are meaningless, Eminence. You don’t speak with the Tongue of God, you never have, you never will. You’re not soldiers of Christ. You serve a Pope, Eminence, a man. You’re politicians, men of the earth, men of the fleshpots with your pagan silks and lands and power and riches and influence. The Lord Jesus Christ came to earth in the guise of a simple man who scratched and went barefoot and stank. I will never leave—nor will my Brothers!”
In absolute silence he took stock. He noticed that Buntaro was covertly watching the Anjin-san. Yabu was wearing the sword he had given him, but was very nervous. The Anjin-san’s bow was correct and motionless, the haft of his sword broken. Kiri and his youngest consort were kneeling, their hands flat on the tatamis, their faces demurely lowered.
“It’s not for you or them I agreed,” Toranaga told her, and quoted one of his comments in the Legacy: “Virtuous men throughout history have always decried bawdy houses and Pillow Places, but men aren’t virtuous and if a leader outlaws houses and pillowing he’s a fool because greater evils will soon erupt like a plague of boils.”
“Surely this Kiwami is the most dangerous of all,” Sudara had said, the only one admitted to the plot. “Yes. And he’ll be watched all his life and not trusted. But generally there’s good in evil people and evil in good people. You must choose the good and get rid of the evil without sacrificing the good. There’s no waste in my domains to be cast away lightly.”
“May I ask what you mean by patience, Sire?” Omi said, instinctively feeling that Toranaga wanted the question to be asked. Toranaga still looked at the girl, warmed by her. “Patience means restraining yourself. There are seven emotions, neh? Joy, anger, anxiety, adoration, grief, fear, and hate. If a man doesn’t give way to these, he’s patient. I’m not as strong as I might be but I’m patient. Understand?”
So much sadness today. And happiness: daimyo of Izu-to-be; Commander of the Regiment; the Anjin-san’s to be kept in Anjiro, therefore the first ship is to be built within Izu—in my fief. Put aside your sadness. Life is all sadness. Kiku-san has her karma, I have mine, Toranaga has his, and my Lord Yabu shows how foolish it is to worry about this or that or anything. Omi looked up at Toranaga, his mind clear and everything compartmentalized.
Mariko-san, it was your karma to die gloriously and live forever. Anjin-san, my friend, it is your karma never to leave this land. It is mine to be Shōgun. Kogo, the goshawk, fluttered on his wrist and settled herself, watching him. Toranaga smiled at her. I did not choose to be what I am. It is my karma.
