The Ghost in the Tokaido Inn (11 page)

Tomomi cocked his head and looked
strangely at Seikei. “I have the feeling I have seen you somewhere
else, before last night. Tell me, if the jewel was found, why did
you mention it now, to me? Do you mean to accuse me of a crime I
didn’t commit?”

Seikei felt caught by the man’s
piercing eyes. He tried to think of an answer.

“No matter,” Tomomi said with a
shrug. “It seems that fate has brought you to see this.” He reached
into his robe, and drew something out of it. He held his clenched
fist under Seikei’s nose, and slowly unfolded his
fingers.

The shining red jewel rested on
his palm. Seikei gasped. Light shone from deep within it, like
blood pouring out onto Tomomi’s hand. It was not like glass at all.
Seikei realized why people prized jewels so highly. This one must
be almost as beautiful as the ancient jewel that was supposed to be
kept here in the temple of Ise. That jewel was the very one
Amaterasu herself had given to the first emperor long, long ago, as
a sign of her blessing.

“A worthy offering for Amaterasu,
don’t you think?” said Tomomi.

Seikei tore his eyes away from the
jewel and looked at Tomomi. What could he mean? It must be one of
his cruel jests. Yet as Seikei watched, Tomomi turned and dropped
the ruby into one of the offering-bowls at the foot of the temple
steps. It rolled off the pile of coins and lay on the edge of the
bowl.

It took a great effort for Seikei
to control himself. He wanted to reach down and take the jewel
back. That, of course, was unthinkable.

He turned back to Tomomi, who
smiled as if he were basking in the applause of an audience.
Slowly, he drew the wooden sword from his belt. “Here,” he said.
“You have served me, and I fulfill my part of the bargain.” He
turned and began to walk away.

Seikei caught him by the sleeve.
“Wait. I don’t understand. What did I do for you?”

“Go back and tell your master what
you saw. That is enough.” He shook off Seikei’s hand and quickly
disappeared into the crowd.

Seikei’s head
spun as he tucked the sword through his belt. He had discovered who
the thief was, but
...
he had left the stolen jewel here. And he wanted the judge to
know about it. Why? Was he trying to atone for his theft? But then
why not return the jewel to its owner? Why steal it in the first
place?

Seikei looked back at the ruby
glittering in the sun. At the end of the day, the Shinto priests
would gather it up with the other offerings. Perhaps if he could
find Judge Ooka, there would still be a way to recover
it.

Seikei wanted to hurry, but the
crowd was so thick that it was impossible. A steady stream of
people was still moving forward to the shrine. Those who had
already visited it were going in the other direction, toward the
sacred grove of trees. Little strips of paper fluttered from the
branches of dozens of tall cedars next to the shrine. People wrote
messages on these, asking for favors from Amaterasu.

Amaterasu! Seikei remembered
suddenly that she had granted his wish. He turned to face the
shrine again, clapping his hands. “Amaterasu,” he called out.
“Thank you. Thank you for helping me to save my honor.”

13: A Hard Path to
Follow

Seikei finally made his way back
through the torii. He ran down the hill toward the town. The
streets were unfamiliar, and it took him some time to find the one
where the teahouse was. He kicked off his sandals at the entrance
and ran inside.

Seikei headed for the corridor
that led to the room where he and the judge had stayed. But the
owner suddenly appeared and blocked his way.

“I’m staying with Judge Ooka,”
Seikei explained.

The man shook his head firmly.
“The judge has departed. He left this for you.” He held out a
folded piece of paper, and Seikei opened it.

It read: “Follow the correct
path.”

Seikei stared at the paper,
turning it over to see if it contained anything else. Nothing, not
even the judge’s name or seal.

“When did the judge leave?” Seikei
asked the man.

“Very early,” he said. “You must
hurry if you want to catch up with him.”

Seikei went
outside and stood in the street, puzzled. Was the judge angry? Then
he thought:
the horses!
The judge must have left Seikei’s horse for him,
so that he could follow.

He lost more time looking for the
stables. This must be a lesson to me, he thought. I should be more
observant, notice everything. With every step, he grew more
worried. It was past noon now, and he had to tell the judge about
the jewel before nightfall, when the gifts were taken into the
temple. What could have happened to make him leave?

Finally, he found the right place.
But the stable keeper shook his head. “The samurai took both
horses, riding one, leading the other.”

“Was he in a hurry?” Seikei asked.
The man shrugged.

Seikei pondered the judge’s
instructions. What was the correct path? It must be the highway
leading to Edo. He remembered the judge telling his father that he
would return Seikei safely to him there. Seikei tightened his obi
and began to walk.

He kept asking himself why the
judge had abandoned him. Perhaps he was angry when Seikei did not
return the night before. But if he thought Seikei was in danger,
why did he not look for him? Seikei began to feel resentful. Then
the words of the book by the famous samurai Daidoji Yuzan sprang
into his mind: “There must be no relaxation of the duty of a
warrior to respect his lord.” Seikei straightened his spine and
mentally apologized to Judge Ooka. He would follow the path,
without question or complaint.

Later in the afternoon, he reached
the fork where the road from Ise met the Tokaido Road. He turned
northeast, toward Edo. There was no possibility of losing his way.
The main road was filled with people going in both directions, as
it always was during the day.

Seikei realized that it would take
him at least two days to reach Edo on foot. Where would he stay at
night? It was dangerous to sleep on the road. Bandits and robbers
roamed it at night, preying on the weak and the helpless. He
touched his sword. He would defend himself if attacked, but he
bitterly reminded himself that last night, an actor armed only with
a play sword had taken it away from him.

Seikei looked up at the sky,
seeing that the sun was closer to the horizon. How far was it to
the next town? He wished he had paid more attention when his father
had shown him the map of the road. He studied the faces of the
people he passed, looking for someone trustworthy. He saw a young
couple who carried a wooden box suspended on a pole over their
shoulders. It probably held wares that the couple hoped to
sell.

“Excuse me,” Seikei said. “Would
you tell me how far it is to the next town?”

The man gave him
a strange look. “Two
ri
,
”he said. His wife murmured
something in his ear, and he nodded. The couple began to quicken
their steps, and Seikei followed after them. He wanted to find out
if the town had a Buddhist temple where he could
stay.

But as Seikei strode alongside,
the man looked back over his shoulder. He nudged his wife and they
stopped. “We must rest,” the man muttered.

Seikei looked back. A gang of
rough-looking carpenters were coming up behind them, their tools
slung over their shoulders. The couple stood in the road until the
carpenters caught up. The man said something to them, and the
carpenters stared at Seikei. One of them took a heavy wooden mallet
from his belt and smacked it against his palm.

“Go on, now,” the carpenter said
to Seikei. “You won’t get anything from these good
people.”

Seikei was
astonished.
They thought he was a
thief!
He drew himself up with dignity. “I
am in the service of the samurai Judge Ooka,” he
announced.

The carpenters laughed. “What
would he do with the likes of you? Go find honest work, like us.”
They went on, leaving Seikei staring numbly at them.

He looked down at himself,
realizing that his clothing was soiled and wrinkled from his
encounter with Tomomi in the pleasure-house. His coat and leggings
made him look like one of the masterless samurai who wandered Japan
and sometimes turned to crime when they could not find a daimyo to
employ them. He rubbed his face, realizing he had not washed that
morning. He felt ashamed.

He trudged on. Two ri was not so
far. Traveling in a kago, he and father could cover more than ten
ri in a day. Father’s words came back to him: “It is much safer and
more comfortable to ride in a kago. If you ever had to walk any
great distance, you would appreciate it more.”

Well, Seikei thought, here is the
chance I wanted— to see the countryside on foot. I might as well
make the most of it. The road here wound through farmland, and he
could see people working in the fields, their cone-shaped straw
hats shielding them from the sun. It was a peaceful sight, helping
Seikei to forget his troubles.

Then one of his sandals began to
flop. He looked down and saw that a strap had broken. Sighing, he
tried to tie it together, but he was too clumsy and his knot
wouldn’t hold.

He removed the other sandal and
began to walk barefoot. But very soon, the rocks embedded in the
road had scraped the bottoms of his feet raw. He reminded himself
that a samurai will endure any hardship for his master, and forced
himself to go on. Yet each step became more painful than the last,
and he looked down to see that his feet were bleeding.

He sat down under a tree by the
side of the road. By now the sun had set and there were fewer
people on the road. He pulled up a handful of grass and wiped his
feet. The grass was cool and soothing. Seikei lay back and rested
his head on the ground. He couldn’t get much dirtier than he was.
Perhaps it wouldn’t be so dangerous to sleep here. He could conceal
himself in the field next to the road.

Just then, he heard the sound of a
flute. He sat up and saw the basket-headed komuso approaching. Was
it the same man he had seen before? It was impossible to tell. When
the man reached Seikei, he stopped and looked down at him. The tune
he played was lively and merry.

Seikei had the feeling that the
man was mocking him. He forced himself to get on his feet again.
“Who are you?” he demanded. “What do you want?”

The komuso stopped playing for a
moment, and pointed down the road. Then he turned his back on
Seikei and walked away. Seikei started to run after him, but his
feet pained him again as soon as he touched the road.

“Why don’t you help me?” Seikei
called. But the komuso paid no attention.

Seikei found that he could walk
slowly if he stayed in the grass alongside the road. But there were
many trees there also, and walking around them made his progress
slow. He heard a dog barking in the field off to his right where
rows of millet were growing. Seikei realized it was coming closer.
Suddenly, it jumped out of the millet field and stood in front of
Seikei, barking ferociously.

Seikei froze. He took a step
toward the road to go around the dog, but the animal growled and
bared its teeth. Slowly, Seikei reached for his sword, wondering if
he could strike the animal before it bit him. Before he drew it,
however, he heard a boy’s voice calling, “Inu! Inu!”

The boy appeared and threw his arm
around the dog’s neck. He looked anxiously at Seikei. “I
apologize,” he said. “Inu is trained to guard the fields. Somedmes
thieves try to take our millet.” He paused, and Seikei could feel
the boy look at his filthy clothes. “What happened to your feet?”
the boy asked. His grip on the dog seemed to loosen, and the animal
responded by straining forward and growling at Seikei.

“My sandal broke,” Seikei explained. He looked at the wooden
clogs that the boy wore. “Would you trade your
geta
for my
sandals?” he asked.

The boy looked suspicious, as if
Seikei were trying to trick him. Father said that farmers thought
that all people who lived in towns were thieves. This made it very
difficult to buy their crops at a fair price. “My sandals are
leather,” Seikei said. He held the good one out to show the boy.
“They’re worth much more than your geta.”

The boy took Seikei’s sandal and
examined it. He handed it back. “I would have no use for them,” he
said. “You could not use these for farm work. Besides,” he said
with a knowing smile, “you said one of them was broken.”

“This is the broken one,” Seikei
said, showing the other sandal. “You could mend it easily. It’s
only the strap that’s broken.”

“In that case,” the boy said, “why
don’t you fix it?”

Seikei hung his head. “Because I
am too stupid to know how to tie a proper knot.”

The boy laughed, and Seikei’s face
reddened. “Let me see it,” said the boy. He patted the dog’s head,
saying, “Quiet, Inu,” and in a moment he had tied the broken strap
together. “That should hold for a while,” he said as he handed the
sandal back.