The Tengu's Game of Go (15 page)

The warriors wore chaps of fur or deerskin and hunting robes stained with persimmon sap, or in colors of green and cream, printed with autumn flowers and grasses. The horses' reins were dyed blue or purple, the saddles decorated with silver lacquer, the girths braided with gold thread.

As they galloped over the plain, bringing down the panicked animals, Aritomo watched from the back of his dapple gray horse. He wore bearskin chaps and a hat of silk, with a motif of pines, a compliment to Masachika, to whom he had entrusted his sword and his bow. His falconers sat on horses behind him, each with a hawk on his wrist.

A little farther back stood a huge man, holding the white banner of the Miboshi.

Masachika thought the lord looked better than he had for several weeks. The fresh air, the new surroundings, the excitement of the hunt had made the blood flow more strongly through his veins. His spirits seemed high, too; he was in a generous mood and the successful hunters were rewarded with gifts of land of hundreds of acres.

Masachika wore a hunting robe of light willow green, patterned with flocks of plovers. His chaps were gray wolf skins and his hunting arrows were fletched with tawny and white hawk feathers. His bow was bound with wisteria vine and he rode his favorite tall black horse, Sumi. His sedge hat was lined with pale blue silk.

Sumi was restless, pawing the ground and shaking his head frequently. His skin twitched with every shout and every clash of the cymbals. Masachika was cramped and uncomfortable. He turned his irritation onto Lord Aritomo, who sat without moving, and allowed it to fester into bitter anger. As the host, he was obliged to leave the best opportunities to his guests, but it riled him to see so many of them distinguish themselves and be rewarded, while he had to content himself with holding Lord Aritomo's weapons.

He had to watch while one man killed a boar, bringing it down right in front of Lord Aritomo; another returned in the late afternoon, a huge black bear, with thick fur and gleaming teeth, slung over his horse's back. He presented it to Lord Aritomo and it was graciously accepted, and a large estate at the foot of the High Cloud Mountains granted in payment. Masachika added words of congratulations that nearly choked him.

When the sun began to descend toward the west, Aritomo indicated he would like to return. A conch shell was blown to signify the end of the hunt and his warriors began to gather around him for the ride back. The men's faces were flushed with excitement; the horses breathed heavily, their flanks heaving, white with sweat.

Masachika gave Aritomo's weapons to one of the bodyguards and let the men go on ahead, while he arranged for the slaughtered animals to be collected and carried home, where they would be skinned, some of the meat distributed to the beaters, the rest prepared for the evening's feast. As well as deer and boar, and the bear, there were serow, wolves and foxes, rabbits and hares, squirrels, pheasants, marmots, raccoons. Tusks and antlers would be removed, the larger ones saved for helmet decorations, the smaller used for knife handles and other carvings.

The number of dead deer astonished him—could there be any left alive in the Darkwood? He rode through the temporary dwellings erected for the warriors, greeting many and accepting their thanks and compliments. A wooden platform had been constructed, facing the lake, where Aritomo would eat and watch the performers. The lake had shrunk so much in the years of drought, there was a wide expanse of sand on the shoreline. At one end, food was being prepared in an outdoor kitchen, at the other was the small stage for the musicians. The acrobats would perform on the sand. They had requested a boat, as well, and a small one lay at the water's edge.

Already, from behind the silk curtain that defined the end of the stage, Masachika could hear the chattering of monkeys, and a plangent twanging as the musicians tuned their instruments. He dismounted, told the groom who had been walking beside him to take the horse to the stable, and went behind the curtain.

The music stopped and everyone immediately bowed to him. There were two young men, about twenty years old, he thought, four somewhat older, and two who looked well into their thirties, already showing signs of age. Several of them had monkeys already sitting on each shoulder, tethered with braided blue silk cords, fastened to leather collars set with mother-of-pearl and blue gemstones. The monkeys had thick gray and white fur, their faces and rumps were rose pink, and their deep-set eyes, hazel or green. They wore the same sleeveless red jackets as the acrobats.

The music group consisted of the flute player he had heard on the road, a drummer, the two women singers, and a lutist. There was no sign of Asagao.

He asked where she was and one of the singers replied, “She has gone to get the other lute; her own has a broken string.”

He was tempted to follow her, and lie with her quickly, before the night's celebrations started. The idea excited him unbearably. He checked that everything was ready and went to enter the garden by the east gate, from where it would be easy to slip unnoticed into the pavilion. But his wife was standing on the veranda, directing a flurry of maids and servants who were carrying bowls, cushions, eating trays, and so on to the lakeshore.

She saw him and, giving some last instruction to the steward, stepped down from the veranda and came toward him. Her face was pale, her eyes, despite his admonitions, red rimmed.

“What's the matter?” he said sharply.

Her voice was expressionless and cold. “Have you been to the west gate?”

“No, I came in the other way.”

“Come with me now.”

“I am busy now,” Masachika said. “Besides, it is better not to disturb the spirits.”

“You won't disturb them,” Tama said. “They are not there.”

She walked swiftly to the gate and stood between the posts. The evening's offerings lay scattered about as though someone had kicked them away.

“I felt them go,” she said. “They threw the offerings at my head and rushed past me.”

“You are imagining it,” Masachika said. “It is your own lack of composure that you are feeling. They have just decided to go quiet again.”

“I don't think so. They have escaped. They released the two werehawks Lord Aritomo brought with him.” She looked up. “The birds were flying around shrieking, but I can't hear them now. Well, it doesn't matter. You have lied to me and to the spirits, and now my life is forfeit. I only hope that will be enough to placate them, and that they will not ruin the estate after my death.”

“Don't talk nonsense,” he said, but more gently, for he was suddenly afraid she was losing her mind. “You are not going to kill yourself.”

She did not reply, but gave him a look such as he had never seen before from her. Her contempt stabbed some inner part of him and he felt unexpected despair over all he was going to lose.

“Tama, I beg you. Don't do it. The girl means nothing to me. I will send her away tomorrow.”

“It is too late,” she replied.

He took refuge in anger, then, as was his habit. “How can you bother me with your fantasies at a time like this? I have so many things to think about. We will talk tonight—I will come to you, it will be between us as it used to be, I promise you. Now, let us present a night's entertainment that Lord Aritomo will never forget.”

“And your plan to hasten his end?” she said scornfully.

“Don't speak of such things!” He looked anxiously around the garden, as though they might be overheard.

“If you do have the courage to do it, you will have to write your own poems to the Emperor,” she said, and walked away from him.

Masachika heard a bird call and, looking up, saw, perched on the roof, the strange black bird he had noticed in the rice fields. He could just make out its outline against the darkening sky. The streaks of gold glimmered in the last of the light. He waved his arms at it, but it did not move.

“I will deal with you in the morning,” he vowed.

*   *   *

From the house to the lakeshore, the garden blazed with light. Oil lamps, candles, torches, the kitchen fires at the northern end on which the beasts were roasting, all competed with the huge orange moon that was rising behind the mountains.

Persimmon moon
, Masachika thought, with an uneasy feeling of premonition. It was the last thing he wanted Aritomo to see. Fortunately, by the time Aritomo had finished eating, the moon had changed its color and was high enough to throw a silver path across the lake's surface.

Aritomo commented on it as he took another cup of wine. “Even the moon conspires to make us feel at home. Masachika, you and your wife have excelled yourselves. I cannot remember a more delightful day.”

“It is nothing,” Masachika replied. “However, still to come is a humble little entertainment I have arranged for your pleasure.”

Aritomo gave one of his rare smiles and leaned forward in anticipation.

A wide mat was unrolled on the shore and the silk curtain of the stage drawn to one side. Behind it, the musicians were seated, with a few lamps lighting their faces. Masachika could see Asagao quite clearly, her delicate features, the curve of her breast. She held the shabby old lute, which seemed a shame, but it was the only displeasing aspect. He could not believe he was being forced to give up this beautiful girl. He felt a surge of anger against his wife. He suppressed the fear he had felt earlier and took comfort in memories of how Tama had come to him in Minatogura, her pleas, her expressions of love, repeated so many times in so many nights over the years. In the end she always yielded to him. This time would be no different.

There was a sudden clacking of sticks, announcing the beginning of the performance, and the loud pounding of a drum. As the other musicians joined in, Masachika could hear the lute. It was slightly out of tune and its notes sounded reluctant. Asagao was frowning and she glanced at the other lute player, who made a swiftly hidden grimace in response.

Aritomo, who had a fine ear for music, was also frowning.

“Well, it is, after all, country-style music,” he said graciously. “We cannot expect the skills of the court here.”

Masachika bowed his head in response, trying to stay calm, wondering why Asagao was playing so badly. Had Tama, or the guardian spirits, cast a spell on her?

The small boat floated into the moonlight path, lit by two torches blazing in its stern. Three monkeys were perched in it, wearing courtiers' robes, with black silk hats on their heads. One held a fan, one a wine flask, and the third beat a rhythm on a small drum.

The boat nudged against the shore and the monkeys stepped out gracefully. They walked on their hind legs toward Aritomo and bowed to the ground in his direction. Then they turned to the south and bowed to the guests, and to the north, to the musicians.

Three acrobats came out of the darkness, tumbling across the mat in a series of cartwheels and somersaults. They seized a monkey each and threw them into the air. The monkeys landed nimbly on the men's shoulders and then leaped sideways from shoulder to shoulder, as if they were being juggled.

Something in the music changed, as if the lute had stopped resisting the player. Masachika heard Aritomo gasp in surprise. He followed his gaze to Asagao. Somehow, when they weren't looking, she had changed lutes. She was now holding one of rare beauty, its cherrywood frame and mother-of-pearl inlay gleaming in the torchlight. And music poured from it, almost celestial in its purity and perfection, leaving even Asagao open-mouthed with amazement.

The bird, perched somewhere unseen, sang in harmony with it.

For a few moments the audience watched and listened, transfixed, not sure if it was some magic trick or if they were witnessing a miracle.

Aritomo looked from the lute to the acrobats and back again. Then he was on his feet, his face white, his eyes blazing.

“Arrest them,” he said, trying to speak forcefully, but failing. His voice was a croak. “Seize them immediately.”

“Lord?” Masachika said, bewildered.

“That is Genzo—the imperial lute that has been lost since the rebellion. One of those young men is Yoshimori!”

 

13

TAMA

Once she had seen that the food was prepared and everything was running smoothly, Tama slipped away to her room. She performed all her tasks with a detached tenderness, knowing each one was for the last time. Haru alone noticed her leave, and rose to follow her, but Tama made a sign to her to stay where she was. Haru would try to dissuade her, and she was determined not to be turned away from her purpose.

The house was empty. All of them, servants, maids, guards, were on the lakeshore, attending to guests, hoping to see the performers. A few lamps had been lit, and their flames burned steadily in the still air. She glanced almost indifferently at the cypress floors, each perfect plank selected by her, at the silk wall hangings and all the valuable carvings and vases that she had chosen and had displayed discreetly throughout the house. She marveled that all she had once loved so much now meant nothing to her.

The main rooms of the house faced south and east. The room in which she lived was on the northwest side. The moonlight did not penetrate it, but the shutters had not been closed and the shadows the moon threw hovered in the garden. Moths were fluttering around the lamp flame and she could hear the thin whining of mosquitoes. From the garden came the melancholy chirping of insects that had only days to live.

But even that is longer than I have.

She went to her writing desk and found her inkstone and brush. There was still enough water in the dropper to wet the stone. She took out a few sheets of paper, enfolded in a silk cloth, and unwrapped them, shaking out the fragments of rue and aloewood that had been placed among them. Everything was attacked by insects, nothing was exempt from the universal rule of death. The only courageous act was to snatch control from death itself, to decide the time and manner of one's own departure. The thought made her smile.