Текст книги "The Old Men of Omi"

Автор книги: Ingrid J. Parker

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Chapter Five

Tora Meets the Sohei

Tora was whistling again. Sometimes things worked out perfectly. His master had looked rested and pleased to be with his best friend, and he, Tora, had been given a day off to have a good time in a place that promised all manner of entertainment.

To make things perfect, he had found a friend. Having taken the opportunity to study the workings of the provincial headquarters, he had paid a visit to the provincial guard, introducing himself as Lieutenant Sashima, formerly commander of the Chikuzen guard. The local commander, a native son belonging to provincial gentry, turned out to be haughty and short with him. Tora decided the fellow felt threatened and became reserved himself. The soldiers were decent enough, but that was probably due to their sergeant, a cheerful older man with twinkling eyes and a ready laugh.

When Tora mentioned that he planned to have a look at the town, Sergeant Okura offered to join him, since he had some business to attend to in the harbor area.

Okura lost no time apologizing for his commander. “He’s a dry old stick,” he said, “but fair enough. We have to put up with the local gentry who snap up all the best jobs in a province. This one at least tries.”

Tora nodded wisely and told the tale of their arrival in Chikuzen and his confrontations with the police captain. Okura volunteered that his own background was the army. Tora responded by calling him “Comrade” and asking where he had served.

“In the north. Horrible snowfall,” said Okura.

“Tell me about it. My master was governor of Echigo a few years back. Another miserable assignment. We were attacked by the local warlord.”

Okura stopped and goggled at him. “You don’t say? When was that?

“More than fifteen years ago. Time flies.”

“The Uesugi affair! Brother, we must talk more!” They had reached the harbor area and Okura pointed to a large wine shop. “We’ll have a few cups there after I take care of this business. Give me half an hour. It seems we have much to talk about.”

Tora laughed. He liked the idea and Okura himself. “Take your time. I’ll watch the boats.”

Okura headed for the harbor master’s office, and Tora wandered along the waterside.

Otsu’s harbor was large like those of Naniwa and Hakata, and yet very different. All three were busy, but while large ocean-going ships docked in Hakata and Naniwa, traffic on Biwa Lake consisted of huge numbers of smaller boats carrying anything from lumber and tax goods to passengers who by-passed travel by road for a leisurely boat voyage.

Tora strolled about, attracting curious stares because of his silk-laced half armor and sword. The unloading of barges and boats was done by laborers wearing only loincloths and bandanas tied around their heads. They were cheerful enough on this pleasant spring morning, and Tora smiled at some of the crude jokes they passed back and forth when two slatternly women sauntered past. The women gave back as good as they got.

The amount and types of materials unloaded and reloaded for the land trip to the capital amazed him. He expected the rice bales from the Northern provinces; these were stacked into huge piles by a steady stream of the half-naked bearers. Elsewhere barrels of oil awaited transport, as did huge sacks of silk floss and rolls of fabric. But there were also many horses, and large containers of paper, lacquer ware and clay utensils, as well as all sorts of food stuffs. The capital absorbed it all and asked for more.

When he decided it was time to meet Okura and was about to turn back, he noticed a disturbance near one of the larger boats. The steady line of bearers walking down the gangway with their burden of rice bales had come to a halt and a group of people seemed to be struggling and shouting on the quay. Tora investigated. To his surprise, he saw several armed monks like the ones they had seen earlier on their journey. They seemed engaged in a threatening argument with some people.

As he got closer, he counted four sohei, and three were armed with naginata, those long handled halberds with sword blades at their ends. The fourth had a sword. All were big men, wearing the usual black armor and white headgear. They had seized one of the laborers who struggled in their grip. Two men, who appeared to be the harbor master and his clerk, objected to this. The harbor master was shaking his fist angrily. “Let him go and stay away from our workers,” he shouted. “There are laws around here!”

The monks laughed. One said, “The laws are ours. And so is this man.”

The laborer cried, “I’m a free man. I’m a free peasant. They drove me off my land. Help me!”

One of the sohei who had a grip on him, snarled, “Shut up, you dog!” and shook him. The other brute punched him viciously in the side. The laborer sagged to his knees and vomited.

Tora clenched his fists and was about to intercede when the clerk in his sober, dark gown and black cap said sharply, “Stop that! He told the truth. He came to us and proved he was free. I signed him on. He’s an honest man who has served in the northern army. You’ve got the wrong man.”

The monk who had punched the worker laughed. “If he’s a soldier, he’ll get to fight again.” He turned to the laborer. “Tell them! You know what’s good for you, don’t you, fellow? You’ve got a family, haven’t you? What’s to become of them if you don’t obey the temple?”

A look of fear passed over the laborer’s face. He nodded and got to his feet. “I’ll go with them,” he said dully. The sohei grinned. The one with the sword said, “See? All is well. He’s one of ours all right.”

When they turned to leave with the man, Tora stepped in their way. “Halt!” he snapped. “That man stays here. If you have a claim, you can take the matter up with the governor. It’s against the law to kidnap people.”

The sohei stared at him from their white head cowls, taking in his half armor and sword. Their spokesman said, “No need to interfere, Officer. He’s one of our peasants. A run-away. It’s our business to round up such men.”

Suddenly the worker flung himself to his knees before Tora and clasped his legs. “Don’t let them take me, sir!”

One of the bullies snarled, “Up, shitface!” and clenched a fist to strike him again

Tora pushed him back. The monk stumbled, but his companion cursed and came at Tora. He was huge, with fists like sledge hammers, and he was fast. Tora tried to jerk aside, but a glancing blow landed on his cheek. His head snapped back and for a moment he saw stars. When his eyes cleared, he saw that two of the monks had lowered their halberds.

Tora was badly outnumbered and he had no doubt that all four of them were trained fighters. Besides, a sword is at a disadvantage against a halberd. But he drew his sword anyway and stood his ground, crouching slightly and balancing on the balls of his feet, ready to move in any direction when the attack came.

Nothing happened for the space of several breaths. Then the monk with the sword said, “Leave him be. His time will come.”

There was some foot shuffling and a good deal of glaring, but eventually the three sohei with halberds obeyed and all four stalked away. The laborer still knelt on the ground and sobbed.

Tora asked him, “Will they come back for you?”

The laborer wiped his eyes and blinked up at him. “Maybe, maybe not. Are you with the provincial guard?”

“No, but I know the governor.” Tora’s cheek started to hurt. He looked around. “What’s going on here?”

The overseer came up and said, “Thank you, Officer. Please tell the governor that those bastards come down from their mountain whenever they need more slaves. They help themselves to the best workers and claim they escaped from temple land and owe them labor or money. Somebody should put a stop to this. He was the third man they tried to grab this week.”

“He seemed willing enough to go with them in the end,” said Tora, frowning.

The laborer said sadly, “I’ve got a wife and children. They might get them, too.”

Tora’s eye was throbbing. He wondered if he had made things worse. “I take it you prefer to work here. But if you really left their land, they have a right to make you go back.”

The overseer looked disgusted. “You can believe what you want, but around here we’ve learned not to trust those hooded bastards.” With that he turned and shouted orders at the other bearers, who had stood at a distance, watching the encounter. Soon the line formed again and the rice moved out of the boat and onto the land. The laborer got to his feet, nodded to Tora, and joined them.

The clerk shook his head and walked away.

Tora stood for a moment longer, then walked back to the wine shop. He did not like what he had just witnessed. Even if the monks had the law on their side, they should not be allowed to enforce it themselves. What was the world coming to, if every landowner simply arrested his people without taking the matter to the governor or prefect?

Okura was sitting at one of the outside tables. Also waiting was a flask of wine and two cups. Tora cheered up.

“The next round is mine,” he said, emptying the cup Okura handed him. He smacked his lips. “Not bad. You know your suppliers.” He held out the cup for a refill.

Okura obliged, then asked, “What happened to you?”

“A small disagreement with some fractious monks. Four of those sohei raided the laborers unloading a boat and tried to take one of the men away. I interfered. What’s going on here?”

Okura’s face fell. “Those cursed sohei,” he muttered. “They’re always at it. They’re either recruiting new soldiers or arresting men for hard labor on their land. They own just about all the land in Omi.”

Shocked, Tora said, “Surely not.”

“Well, close to it. Onjo-ji and Enryaku-ji between them own or control hundreds of hamlets. The peasants and landowners signed over their estates to gain tax-free status. The temples allow them to keep their harvest and buy their rice at a discount. That way, both profit.”

“That should be against the law.”

“Who’s going to oppose a powerful temple? The court always decides in favor of the monks.”

“Surely the governor can put a stop to what I just saw?”

Okura shook his head. “He’s a good man, but he will not tangle with either temple.”

“Well my master’s here to do just that,” Tora said angrily. “I’ll let him know what’s going on.”

“Good luck!” Okura grimaced. “I’d like to see it. We’ve had too much trouble, and it’s been getting worse lately. But drink up. You owe me some stories concerning that warlord Uesugi. We heard about it in our camp, but it was winter and the news was hard to come by.”

The wine was good and Tora complied.

Chapter Six

In a Spring Garden

Akitada returned to provincial headquarters to check on the progress of the temple dispute and found the work progressing to his satisfaction. Then he went to Kosehira’s office. His friend was deep in paperwork, three young clerks standing by and a scribe scribbling furiously as the governor dictated.

“Akitada!” said the governor, emerging somewhat dazed from a document. “Dear me, is it time already?” He glanced through the open doors. The sun was well past midday. “Forgive me. A sudden press of work. Would you mind going back by yourself? Tell my people that I expect to get home by sunset. I have neglected you shamefully.”

“Not at all,” said Akitada. “I’ve had a very pleasant time with Chief Takechi. We were doing a bit of reminiscing. I’ll see you later then.”

He got back on his horse and enjoyed the short journey back up the hillside. At the villa, he turned the animal over to the stable boy and then went to deliver Kosehira’s message. He found the younger children romping in the garden with Kosehira’s eldest daughter.

They greeted him eagerly. Yukiko, in a charming red embroidered jacket and pale green gown over white trousers, claimed he looked tired. “Come, Cousin Akitada,” she said, taking his hand and leading him to a small summerhouse overlooking the shimmering lake, “you must rest and admire the pretty view. I love it here.”

Made uncomfortable by the familiar way she treated him, Akitada withdrew his hand and said stiffly, “It’s very beautiful, Lady Yukiko.”

And so was she, truth to tell. The light green silk gown with the embroidered Chinese jacket suited her slender figure perfectly. Her hair was thick and glossy and tied in back with a white silk bow, a hairstyle that Tamako had also favored as more practical than loose hair. But she was nothing like Tamako in other ways. Yukiko’s movements were quick, and her laughter frequent. She had a disturbing way of casting smiling glances at him from the corners of her eyes.

“Oh,” she said now, blushing rosily. “Forgive me for calling you ‘cousin.’ It was very forward of me. But you see, Father calls you ‘Elder Brother’ and I thought ‘Uncle’ would make you feel like an old man. What may I call you?”

Akitada had been more shocked by her touch than by being called cousin and felt himself redden also. “Not at all. I like being called ‘cousin’ by such a pretty young lady,” he said awkwardly. “You are very kind. The fact is I am an old man, and you made me feel young again.” When he realized that this had sounded not only flirtatious but also encouraged more reassurances that he was not at all old, he flushed again.

She looked at him, wide-eyed. “You old? But that’s silly. You’re my father’s age—I know because I asked. I’ve asked a million questions about you—but you look much younger and you have had such an exciting life that no one could possibly think of you as old.”

“You flatter me, Lady Yukiko. I don’t know what to say, except that your father must have grossly exaggerated.”

“Please call me Yukiko. You seem like a part of my family. If you’re going to be formal, you force me to be formal also. I’ll have to start carrying a fan and hide my face whenever I see you. Do you want that?”

Her eyes twinkled, the soft lips smiled, and, yes, she dimpled when she said this. Feeling foolish, Akitada smiled back, gazed into her pretty face, and said quite honestly, “Heaven forbid!”

She laughed. It was a very pretty laugh, natural and light-hearted, and it fell like music on his ears. There had been too little laughter in his life. Kosehira was a lucky man. He lived surrounded by happy people.

As he thought this, Akitada realized that Kosehira himself was surely the cause of such a joyous home. Kosehira’s wealth and influence had perhaps made it easier for him to be cheerful, but there were more fundamental differences between them than status. He had never been able to laugh spontaneously like that. Even when he had been Yukiko’s age, he had been intense and forever worried about what people thought of him. These days, he was bitter and cynical, having found little in his experiences to lighten his mood and give him hope.

She still studied him. Perhaps he should have made her a compliment, but he shied away from this.

“What is it?” he asked.

“You looked absolutely crushed. What were you thinking about?”

He turned away. “Please show me your beautiful garden. You don’t want to know my thoughts.”

“Forgive me,” she said softly. “I’m always saying the wrong thing. You must still love her very much.”

Akitada sighed. Young women could be very difficult. “I wasn’t thinking of my wife, but yes, I did love her very much. And there is nothing to forgive. I’m a crabby old fellow and you are trying hard to raise my spirits. That is a great kindness.” He added a smile when he saw the uncertainty in her face.

She smiled back. “You’re not crabby, just very reserved and a little shy. Come along, then. It’s a very lovely garden, better than our other ones in the city or the country.”

Kosehira had two primary residences. Akitada was familiar with the mansion in the capital, having attended many parties there and also been Kosehira’s only guest. It was typical of the homes of the ranking noblemen and imperial princes. But he had to admit that this villa was prettier and the garden more interesting. Some of its attractiveness came from the fact that they were in a mountainous area and so the paths dipped and turned and climbed again, often via stone steps. And at every turn, there was some pleasure: a stone lantern among flowering azaleas, a sudden overlook revealing another glimpse of the lake, a rustic stone garden seat, a water basin where they disturbed some birds, and a small rill that flowed into a pond.

They came to a halt beside the pond. “Oh,” he said, delighted, “you have koi. So do I, in a much smaller pond outside my room. They have given me much pleasure.”

“I wish I may see them someday,” Yukiko said and knelt on the mossy stones without regard to her pretty clothes. “Look, there’s Black Dragon, and over there Silver Star. And that spotted one is Glowing Embers, and the solid red one I call Setting Sun.”

“You’ve named them all?”

“Most of them. Sometimes when I get lonely I come and talk to them.”

“How could you get lonely in such a lively family?”

She rose and turned to him, her eyes suddenly sad. “You can be lonely in a large crowd. You see, there really is no one to know but yourself in this world. I think we try to forget that by seeking out others to distract us from ourselves.”

He was struck dumb. It was a profound insight for someone so young. And she was a mere girl. How odd! It made him uneasy, and he told himself that perhaps she had read this someplace. “Do you enjoy books?” he asked impulsively

“Oh, yes. I love them. I have read all of Genji. And also many diaries and some Chinese poetry. But that is just another way of distracting yourself. It passes the day.”

But Akitada was surprised by something else this time. “You read Chinese.”

She blushed. “Don’t tell Father. I’ve been sitting in on my brothers’ classes with their Chinese tutor. It’s not at all suitable for a lady. I know that, but …” She paused, then added in a rush, “You see, I’ve always wanted to know what a man’s life is like. I already know about women and their lives, but I know next to nothing about the lives of men when they are away from home.”

This young girl was full of surprises. Akitada did not know what to say. Was it natural for a girl to want to know how men lived and thought? Surely females had more pleasant occupations among their silks and brocades, their fans and mirrors, their picture books and musical instruments, their charming lives playing games. He did not know what to say and looked down into the pond where Black Dragon emerged from the depth to snatch a gnat and disappear with a flip of his tail that scattered the other fish.

“Will you tell me about your adventures?” she asked. “About Sado Island and Echigo? About the monks in Kazusa and that mad painter in the capital, about the lost boy and how you got buried in an earthquake?”

He looked up, startled. Her eyes were bright with excitement and she glowed with rosy color. He did not think he had ever seen anyone look so beautiful and so alive.

“And how you were fighting the pirates in a burning warehouse … ?” she added but faltered when she saw his face.

Akitada silently cursed Kosehira for filling his children’s heads with such tales. All of the events she had cited had been terrifying and some were tragic. He looked at her without speaking. Her lower lip began to tremble.

“Oh,” she said. “I did it again. I’m sorry.” And the next moment, she had gathered her full trousers and run back up toward the house.

Akitada stood bemused, watching her slender legs in their white silk stockings and her small feet in black slippers skipping away, jumping over rocks and tree roots, until she disappeared from sight.

Extraordinary!

And strangely moving. He was not used to such admiration. Indeed, he hardly thought he deserved it. Whatever happened had not been by his choice. Those dangerous events had been forced upon him, and he still bore the scars and deeper wounds in his soul. He rubbed the leg which a brutal policeman had broken by beating him with a cudgel. It had somehow healed in the weeks he was a prisoner in a gold mine, but he shuddered at the memory. And this child, this girl who was not fully grown yet, wanted him to tell her all about it.

Of course he could not do anything of the sort. For one thing such a telling would require privacy, and he feared that being alone with his friend’s daughter had become far too unsettling.

But he was secretly pleased that she thought so well of him.

∞

Kosehira arrived that evening looking tired, but the eager greetings from his children, who had watched for him, and the sight of Akitada cheered him instantly. Making an apologetic gesture to Akitada, he listened to the excited tale his youngest son was bursting with—it involved the capture of a lizard who had escaped again—and he admired a drawing by his youngest daughter, then laughed out loud when the next daughter’s kitten took exception to the dog and lashed out. The dog squealed and ran, and the kitten chased after it.

Only after greeting his wives and enquiring about the time of the evening meal did he take Akitada by the arm and walk him into the garden.

“What a day!” he said. “You must forgive me. There were so many callers with complaints, petitions, reports, invitations, and suggestions that I couldn’t get away sooner. Have you been bored?”

Akitada smiled. “Not at all. Your daughter Yukiko showed me your beautiful garden.” He made this admission half fearfully, wondering what her father would make of it.

Kosehira shot him a curious glance. “Good, Yukiko has made herself useful. What do you think of her?”

“She is quite beautiful and charming. And I take it she’s a clever girl also.”

Kosehira chuckled. “Did she tell you she studies Chinese?”

“You aren’t supposed to know.”

“I knew all along. Yukiko has her own mind. She always gets what she wants. Since she’s also sweet and affectionate and loves people and animals, I don’t have the heart to deny her. I’m afraid I’ve always doted on her and she knows it. Don’t tell her.”

Akitada smiled and promised. There was something wonderful about the bond between a father and a daughter, he thought. He loved his children equally, but Yasuko could melt his heart with her smile. Still, the subject of Yukiko made him uncomfortable and he changed the subject. “Any interesting business in Otsu?”

“Oh, nothing. Though we do seem to have a crime or two. Someone may have killed an old judge in town, and up in the Echi district, two old men have been attacked on the road. Both are dead.”

“I suppose,” said Akitada slowly, “that this isn’t bad, given the very busy highways passing through your province.”

Kosehira sighed. “You’re right, of course, but when a judge is involved, I have to pay attention.” He cheered up. “Now come and let’s see what cook is surprising us with. My first lady sounded very mysterious about their plans this morning.”

The surprise was roasted pheasant. Normally prohibited to devout Buddhists, pheasant tended to make people bend the rules. The traditional hunting skills still thrived among noblemen who enjoyed hunting the birds both with bow and arrow and with falcons. Kosehira’s table had been provided with several birds as a gift to the governor from a friend who owned a pheasant preserve and supplied the imperial table with the birds.

Akitada enjoyed the meal, but the sight of Yukiko, her head bent over her tray, eating little, and never once raising her eyes to him, made him feel guilty. He wished now that he had been friendlier. She had taken time to amuse him because he was a guest, and he had made her feel ashamed.

Well, he would find a chance to reassure her.