The Ghost in the Tokaido Inn (9 page)

The Forty-Seven Ronin could not be
defeated, and soon the floor was covered with bodies. The ronin
began to search for the man they had come for—Lord Kira. Each time
they ripped aside a curtain or opened a door, the music swelled.
But they could not find the lord. Children in the audience pointed
to a small bamboo structure that stood at the corner of the stage.
“There, look there!”

That was Lord Kira’s
hiding-place—an outhouse, a toilet. At last Oishi threw open the
door to reveal a man dressed in a crimson robe. Oishi dragged him
out, and the other ronin surrounded him, a circle of black figures
with the red one at the center.

Oishi’s eyes were bright with
triumph. “Do you know us?” he cried. “We are the loyal men of the
Lord of Ako. We suffered his disgrace at your hands. We did not
forget.”

He offered his own long sword to
Lord Kira, holding it under his chin. “You have one chance to save
your own honor. This is the sword that my lord used to kill
himself. I have used it to avenge him. Take it now, take it and
kill yourself, as a samurai should.”

The silver blade quivered in the
light. Lord Kira raised his eyes. They were filled with terror. He
was, in the end, not worthy to be a samurai. He wriggled out of
Oishi’s grasp and opened his mouth as if to scream for help. The
music rose to a high pitch, and then paused.

Before Lord Kira could utter a
sound, Oishi raised the sword and in a single swift blow cut off
Lord Kira’s head.

The audience shrieked. The
red-robed figure slumped to the floor, and Oishi reached down and
picked up the head, holding it high. For an instant, Seikei thought
it was real, but then saw it was a stuffed cloth head, dripping
red.

The head was swiftly placed into a
basket, and the ronin marched solemnly off stage, carrying it with
them.

That was not the end of the story,
as Seikei knew. The music played while the lanterns were changed
again, and now the ronin reappeared, bringing their basket to the
court of the shogun.

The shogun was respected and
feared. In him rested all the ideals of the samurai, but he ruled
Japan with an iron fist. The Forty-Seven Ronin knelt before him,
and once more Oishi told the story of his lord’s disgrace and how
he and the other ronin had avenged his honor.

The shogun, costumed splendidly in
helmet and leather armor, listened in silence. When Oishi had
finished his tale, the audience waited for the shogun to
speak.

At last, he rose from his seat.
“You have acted honorably,” he said. “You have done what any
samurai should do. And yet...I cannot allow you to kill a daimyo
without punishment. I have no choice.”

He bowed his head. “You know what
honor demands. I release you.”

One by one, the lanterns were
extinguished as the shogun and his courtiers left the stage. Only
the Forty-Seven Ronin remained, standing under the single lantern
that still shone.

The musicians played their
terrible tune as the Forty-Seven Ronin unsheathed their swords.
Many in the audience could be heard weeping, and Seikei wished
silently that there could be another end to the story.

But there was not. The samurai
committed seppuku, thrusting their swords into their bodies and
falling lifeless upon the stage. The last to fall was Oishi
himself. He turned his blazing eyes upon the audience and shouted,
“Remember us! For we are the spirit of Japan!”

The last lantern went out as he
used his sword on himself. For a moment, there was silence, and
then the loud wooden clappers offstage began again— sounding
forty-seven times. The music began again, and the lanterns winked
on. The stage was empty, but the audience began to clap so loudly
that the actors reappeared to bow and accept the
applause.

Seikei stood to see as clearly as
possible the actor who played Oishi. He was in the center of the
stage, smiling and bowing. But he was too far away for Seikei to
tell if he looked like the man he had seen in the Tokaido Road.
“Where do the actors go after the play?” he asked Judge
Ooka.

“I do not know,” said the judge.
“Why do you ask?”

“Let’s follow them and see what
that actor looks like without his makeup.”

The judge yawned. “The play was a
long one, and I am tired. Why don’t you do it and come back and
tell me what you found?”

Seikei stared. He could not
understand the judge’s lack of concern. Hadn’t he picked out this
theater himself? This might be the thief they were looking
for!

Perhaps the judge was testing
Seikei’s courage. If so, he must prove himself. Seikei nodded and
began to make his way toward the stage.

11: The Floating World

Seikei found it hard to thread his
way through the flow of people leaving the theater. By the time he
reached the stage, it was empty. He climbed up and went behind the
curtain that had concealed the musicians.

Seikei found himself in a
confusing crowd of actors removing their costumes, musicians
packing their instruments, and others collecting the props. He
searched anxiously for the actor who played Oishi, but did not see
him. One of the other actors took off his helmet and handed it
casually to Seikei. Without thinking, Seikei took it.

He looked around. Another boy
about his own age was packing the helmets into a chest. Seikei went
over and stacked his on top.

“Not like that!” the other boy
said. “I’ve got to fit them all inside.” He took the helmet and
slipped it neatly over another one. Then he eyed Seikei.

“Who are you?” the boy asked. “I
never saw you before.”

“I’m looking for the actor who played Oishi,” Seikei
explained.
“I...
I have a message for him.”

The boy snorted. “From some woman,
I suppose. Well, he’s gone. Didn’t even take off his costume, as
usual.” The boy winked at Seikei. “He likes to wear it about the
town, pretending he’s a samurai. I’ll have to go find him later to
get it. Probably have to clean it too. He’s likely to end up
drunk.”

Seikei thought for a moment. “If I
help you here, will you help me find him?”

The boy shrugged. “Why not? Go
pick up some of the robes. These actors will just toss them on the
floor and blame me if they’re wrinkled at the next
performance.”

As Seikei helped, he learned that
the boy’s name was Kazuo. He constantly complained about the
actors, but it was clear that he was proud of being part of the
troupe. “Are your parents actors too?” Seikei asked.

Kazuo shook his head, smiling.
“Haven’t got any parents,” he said. “I’ve always lived in the
kabuki. Tomomi said they found me in a trunkful of costumes when I
was a baby.” He shrugged. “Maybe I was a character from a play who
came to life. Once in a while, they let me on stage, and I know
that’s where I’m destined to be. Someday I want to play Oishi, when
Tomomi retires.”

“Tomomi? Is that the real name of
the actor?” asked Seikei.

Tomo Tomomi he calls himself,”
replied Kazuo. “But who knows what his real name is? As Tomomi
says, in kabuki anyone can become whoever he likes.”

Kazuo closed the last of the
chests of costumes and locked it. Everyone else had left the
theater. “You want to go find him now?”

Seikei nodded.

“He’ll likely be in the floating
world somewhere,” Kazuo said.

Seikei took a
deep breath. The floating world! That meant the houses where
lanterns shone far into the night. The pleasure quarters where
beautiful
geishas
sang and played samisens, served cups of rice wine
called
sake
,
and comforted those who sought
relief from their everyday lives. Seikei’s father would be
horrified if he knew his son was going there.

“Let’s go,” Seikei
said.

The streets of Ise were dark and
silent now. The lines of people at the shrines would form early in
the morning, and they would be long. Most of the pilgrims had
already retired to their inns or lay snoring within the monastery
grounds.

But Kazuo led him to a part of the
town where the windows still glowed and soft, enticing music
tinkled from within. The back of Seikei’s head tingled as he heard
a footstep in the street behind them. He turned and saw a dark
figure stepping into the shadow of an overhanging roof. Was it only
his imagination, or did the figure really have a basket over its
head?

“Someone’s following us,” Seikei
whispered to Kazuo.

Kazuo looked, but the figure had
disappeared. “You’re just nervous,” he said.

Seikei truly was nervous as they
walked up to the entrance of one of the houses. He looked at its
glowing paper windows and tried to imagine what lay behind them.
When they stepped onto the porch, an older woman slid the door open
and looked at them with disapproval.

Seikei stared at her kimono. Even
in the dim light, he could see that it was made of beautiful blue
silk, as fine as any he had seen on rich women in Osaka. “You boys
go home to bed,” she said.

“I’m with the kabuki,” said Kazuo.
“I’m looking for an actor.”

The woman sniffed. “No actors
here. This is a respectable house. Only samurai.”

“He dresses like a samurai,” Kazuo
said. “Brown kimono with white embroidery. He has a scar on his
face, right here.” Kazuo drew his finger down his cheek.

“Oh,” said the woman. “You mean
Tomomi.”

“That’s right. Is he
here?”

“Not tonight. I didn’t know he’d
returned.” She

pointed down the street. “Try that
place, with the green lantern in front. That’s the sort of house
where Tomomi would go.”

This time, a younger woman opened
the door. Her kimono was not as fine as the older woman’s, and the
hair piled up on her head was slightly out of place. She put her
hand over her mouth and giggled when she saw the boys.

“We’re looking for Tomomi,” Kazuo
said at once. “Is he here?”

She said nothing, but stood aside
and pointed to the back of the house. Leaving their sandals at the
entrance, Kazuo and Seikei padded across the wooden
floor.

They passed several closed doors,
hearing the sounds of music and laughter behind them. Seikei
smelled sweet incense drifting throughout the house. Kazuo listened
briefly at each door, then shook his head and moved on. Finally,
they reached the last room, where a man was talking loudly. Even
Seikei recognized the sound of the actor’s voice. Boldly, Kazuo
slid open the door and Seikei followed him inside.

Lying on a bed of many pillows was
the actor Seikei now knew as Tomomi. He still wore the costume of
the samurai Oishi, though his knot of hair had fallen around his
head. He had loosened his obi and removed his two swords, but they
lay carefully next to him, just as a samurai would have placed
them.

Three young women were kneeling
around him. They were geishas, women who trained for years to
please men with the arts of music and conversation. One strummed a
samisen, and another was holding a tray with small cups on it. The
third was rubbing Tomomi’s feet.

Tomomi had been reading aloud from
a book, but when the door opened, Seikei saw the man’s mouth freeze
and his eyes darken. Instantly he was on guard, and his hand moved
a fraction toward the swords before he recognized Kazuo.

“Aha, you’ve found me,” Tomomi
said. His eyes moved to Seikei. “And who’s this?” Tomomi’s smile
was genial, but Seikei had the feeling the man was carefully
inspecting him.

“Just somebody who wants to bring
you a message,” said Kazuo.

Tomomi’s eyes, dark and faintly
menacing, went up and down Seikei. “I see he wears a sword,” Tomomi
said. “Come closer.”

Seikei felt himself drawn forward
by Tomomi’s voice. Earlier, in the theater, he had felt the actor’s
power from a distance. Now, face-to-face, Tomomi seemed like a
demon who could cast a spell over him.

“That’s a beautiful piece of
wood,” Tomomi said, looking at Seikei’s wooden sword. “Where did
you get it?”

“From my lord,” said Seikei,
without thinking.

“And he sends you to me with a
message? What is it?”

Seikei struggled to think what his
answer should be. “He . . . admired your performance,” he
stammered.

Tomomi grinned and cocked his
head. “Is that so? He sent you merely to say that? What is your
master’s name?”

Seikei hesitated. Should he tell
the truth? The judge had not told him what to do if he found
Tomomi. But Tomomi’s eyes compelled him to speak.

“The samurai Judge Ooka,” he
said.

Tomomi threw back his head and
laughed. The sound rattled through the house, shaking the paper
screens that divided the rooms.

“That fat old fool,” Tomomi said,
wiping his eyes. “He sends a boy to find me?”

Seikei was angry and embarrassed.
He let his hand drop to the hilt of his sword.