Mandarins (13 page)

“In this struggle to the death, the strength of the crone was no laughing matter, but in the end it was no match for her age. Soon, as the lass, with the twilled fabric and silk tucked under her arm, was breathlessly and stealthily slipping out the door of the pagoda, the nun was quite still. It was later reported that her remains were found lying faceup in a dimly lit corner, a bit of blood having dripped from her nose and her head awash in gold dust.

“The lass fled Yasaka-dera and made her way to the hovel of a friend in Ky
ō
goku, near the bridge at Fifth Avenue, for, not surprisingly, she was eager to avoid heavily residential districts. The friend was living no less precariously from hand to mouth, but having no doubt received a bolt of silk, she boiled water, made rice gruel, and, it seems, went to great lengths to care for her guest. Now at long last she could be at her ease.”

“I too am relieved to hear it.” The young attendant took out a fan from his sash and adroitly snapped it open and shut, as he gazed out through the screen at the evening sun. At that moment five or six servants, dressed in white, were strolling along the road, laughing raucously and merrily, trailing long shadows as they passed.

“And so that is the end of the story?”

“Ah, but wait!” said the old man with an exaggerated shake of his head. “While she was still in the house of her friend, there was suddenly a great tumult in the street. And now she heard a cacophony of voices, crying: ‘There! There!' With her already troubled conscience, she was immediately seized with anxiety. Had the thief come to extract revenge? Or had the constables come for her? Such was her state of mind that she was unable even to sip her gruel.”

“Yes, yes . . .”

“Peering through an opening in the door, she could see among
the onlookers five or six officers of the law, accompanied by a bailiff, passing in stately procession. In their midst was a man bound with a rope. He wore a tattered outer robe with no cap and was being pulled along by his captors. It appeared that they had arrested a thief and were taking him to his place of residence to make inventory of all his stolen treasure.

“Moreover, this thief was the very same man who the previous night had accosted the lass on Fifth Avenue. Seeing him, she seems for some reason to have burst into tears. She later told me herself that it was not in the least out of love for him. It was rather that as she saw him so ignominiously bound, she felt pity for herself . . . Be that all as it may, so it was—and at the time the story quite stirred me.”

“In what way?”

“As a cautionary reminder of what may happen when we pray to Lady Kannon.”

“But tell me, old man. Did she not find the means to make her way through life thereafter?”

“She has done better than merely make her way; she now passes her days quite without hardship. I should assume that for one thing she sold the twilled fabric and silk. In that at least the bodhisattva was true to her promise.”

“It would seem to me only just recompense for her ordeal.”

Outside, the sunlight was turning to the color of evening gold; from the bamboo thicket, stirred by a breeze, came a faint rustling sound. The road now appeared to be quite deserted.

“If it was not her intention to cause a death or to wed a thief, there is, I suppose, nothing further to be said.”

The attendant reinserted his fan and stood up, as the old man poured water from a pitcher to wash his clay-covered hands . . . Each
seemed to be feeling a vague dissatisfaction, both with the waning light of the spring afternoon and with the disposition of the other.

“Well, whatever the matter, the woman is fortunate,” said the younger of the two.

“You are joking!” replied his companion.

“Not in the least. Do you not agree with me, as a man of your years?”

“As for me, I would have no truck with such fortune.”

“Really? For my part, I would not hesitate to accept such blessings.”

“Then by all means trust in the mercies of Lady Kannon!”

“Yes indeed. Tomorrow I shall go on my own retreat!”

It is night. Outside the earthen walls of the palace, Morit
ō
gazes at the rising moon, brooding to himself as he tramps his way through fallen leaves.

His soliloquy:

“So the moon is out. There was a time when I could not wait for it to appear, but now this very brightness has become a dread omen. I tremble at the thought that this night I shall lose my soul, that tomorrow I shall be a common murderer. How rightly the mind's eye sees my hands already crimson with blood! How damned I shall soon seem even to myself! It would cause me no such anguish if I were to kill a detested foe. Yet tonight I must take the life of a man I do not hate.

“I know him by appearance, though his name, Wataru Saemonno-j
ō
, I learned only recently. When, I wonder, did I first see his fair complexion, a face which, for that of a man, is much too delicate. I
confess to having felt pangs of jealousy on being told that this was Kesa's husband. Yet now every trace of such has vanished, so that though he might be my rival in love, I neither loathe nor resent him. Indeed, I could even say that I feel a degree of empathy. When Lady Koromogawa recounted to me how ardently Wataru had courted her niece, I went so far as to feel genuine fondness for him. Why, it seems that in his desire to make her his wife he even took lessons in writing verse. As I contemplate how this deeply earnest samurai composed and sent love poems to her, I sense a smile stealing over my lips—and by no means one of scorn. I am moved to think that he would do so much for a woman. Perhaps it is the knowledge of the passion that drove him to woo her that gives me, her paramour, a sense of satisfaction.

“Still I wonder:
Do I truly love Kesa? My longing for her falls into two phases: past and present. I was already in love with her before she was wed to Wataru—or at least I thought I was. On reflection I now realize that there was much in my feelings for her that was sordid. What did I want of her? Having never had carnal knowledge of a woman, I clearly desired her body. If I may exaggerate, my love for her was, in fact, nothing more than a sentimental frame of mind, embellishing ordinary lust. I submit that though indeed during the three years in which all ties were lost, I never forgot her, the question remains whether, had I once possessed her, I would have remained as steadfast in my infatuation. I confess with shame that I lack the courage to offer an acknowledgment.

“Thus, my attachment to that woman was in no small measure mixed with regret at never having embraced her. It was in that anguished state that I entered into the liaison that I at once both feared and desired. But now? Once again I pose the question:
Do I really love Kesa?

“Before answering, I must recall, however painfully, a series of
events. After meeting her by chance, for the first time in all those three years, at the dedication of the Watanabe Bridge, I spent the next six months scheming and contriving to meet her in secret. In this I succeeded—and in more. I was able to fulfill my dream of making her mine.

“Yet what possessed me was not merely my previously stated regret at not having had her in my arms. As I sat on a mat in the same room with her in the house of Lady Koromogawa, I was aware of how that feeling had diminished. This may have been in part because I had come to know women. The principal reason was, however, that her beauty had faded; she was no longer the Kesa I had last seen three years before. Her skin had quite lost its luster, and her eyes were encircled by dark rings. The abundant flesh of her cheeks and chin had vanished as though it had never been. All that remained unchanged was the fresh and spirited look of those same jet-black eyes.

“The alteration clearly dealt a terrible blow to my desire for her. Brought together with her again for the first time, I felt compelled to look away. Even now I vividly remember it all.

“How is it then that, my longing having so receded, I came to be involved with her? First there was a bizarre desire for conquest. Sitting across from me, Kesa had poured out her love for Wataru with deliberate exaggeration; it only struck me as hollow. I thought to myself that she had quite a vain opinion of her husband, though it also occurred to me that she might be trying to ward off any pity or compassion on my part. I became increasingly desirous to lay bare her lies. Should anyone ask me why I thought it deception or suggest that such might have been simply my own conceit, I could not refute the charge, though this was my belief then, as it is even now.

“But it was not merely the urge for conquest that ruled me; it was—and I blush red to confess it—something more: sheer lust. It was not
even regret at not having made her flesh mine; rather it was something far baser, something for which she was not even required. It was lust for its own sake. A man procuring the favors of a harlot could not, I suppose, be as coarse and common as was I.

“With such muddled motives, I came at last to make love to her—or rather to bring shame upon her. And so I return once more to the question—
do I truly love Kesa
?—and find that it is one that I need not direct to myself after all. There are times when I even hate her. Especially when the ultimate act was completed and I forcibly lifted her up from where she had lain weeping, she struck me as an even more shameless creature than I. There was nothing—whether her tangled hair or the paint and powder on her perspiring face—that did not suggest a hideousness of both body and spirit. If I had ever had any love for her, it was extinguished forever on that day. And if, in fact, I never loved her, then I may freely say that henceforth there was in my heart a new sense of loathing. And now tonight, for the sake of this woman I do not love, I am setting forth to put to the sword a man I do not hate!

“That too is no one's sin but my own, for it was I myself who brazenly put the words in Kesa's ear: ‘Shall we not kill Wataru?' When I contemplate what I whispered, I wonder whether I was not already quite mad. But the words were nonetheless mine. I told myself that I would say no such thing but then, through clenched teeth, did so nonetheless.

“The why of it is to me, now in retrospect, utterly incomprehensible. Forcing myself to explain it, I might suppose that the more I despised and loathed her, the more eagerly I sought her further humiliation and disgrace. Nothing could better serve that purpose than to propose killing Wataru Saemon-no-j
ō
, the imperial guard, the husband for whom she has made such a display of her love, and
coerce consent to my plan. And so I found myself, like a man driven by a nightmare, persuading her to assist in a murder I myself did not want to commit. If my motive is not sufficiently clear, then all that remains by way of explanation is a power unknown to mortals—or, if one prefers, a demon bent on subverting my will and leading me down the path of evil. In any case, I persistently whispered the same words again and again into Kesa's ear.

“At last she suddenly raised her face to mine and gave her docile assent. The ease of her answer was more than surprising. As I looked into her face, I saw in her eyes a strange light I had never seen before: adulteress! A feeling close to despair instantly unfurled before my own eyes the full horror of what I intended. How her wanton, withered features tormented me I need not say. If it had been within my power, I would have renounced our pact then and there and sent the lascivious creature plunging into the very depths of disgrace. Though I had made her my plaything, my conscience might at least then have been able to take refuge in righteous indignation. And yet such leeway was not to be mine, for now, with an abruptly altered expression, her eyes were fixed on me as though penetrating my innermost thoughts . . . I confess that I fell into this conspiracy, setting the day and hour of Wataru's murder out of fear that should I make the slightest attempt to extricate myself from it, I would be at the mercy of her vengeance. Even now I am held firmly in the grip of terror. Those who would despise me for cowardice may do so, but then they will not be such who have known Kesa as I saw her then. As I watched her weep without tears, I thought despairingly that if I were now to refuse to kill him, she would not fail to kill me, even if not by her own hand.

“I would therefore carry out the deed. Even as I swore to her, did I not see on her pale face, to confirm my fears, the dimple of a smile? Oh, because of this cursed oath, I shall add to all my other sins the
crime of murder. If I could but evade the impending doom to which I am committed this very night! But I cannot. Fealty to my own oath and fear of her revenge conspire against me.

“All this is certainly true, but there is more to it. What might it be? It is something that drives even a coward such as me to murder. What overwhelming power is it? I do not know. And yet . . . But no . . . I despise, fear, and hate her. And yet perhaps it is also out of love . . .”

Morit
ō
wanders on aimlessly but says no more. From somewhere the sound of a chant is heard:

Truly is the heart of man no other than an endless night,
His life a raging, death-doomed fire of envy, lust, and spite.

It is night. Kesa sits outside her bed curtains, her back to an oil lamp. Clenching a sleeve in her mouth, she is lost in thought.

Her soliloquy: