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'Can you come back with me now?'
'I have quite a supply of root from Shin, and a new soporific made from
poppies. Luckily I decided to bring them with me,' Ishida remarked, taking up
a cloth bundle and a small wooden chest. 'I had intended to leave these on the
ship. They would be halfway to Akashi by now and little use to you.'
A bleak tone had come into Ishida's voice. Takeo thought he might say more,
but after a moment of uncomfortable silence the doctor seemed to regain his
self-control; he gathered up his things and said cheerfully, 'And then I must
go and check on the kirin. I will sleep at Daifukuji tonight. The kirin is
used to me and even attached to me: I do not want it to fret.'
Takeo had been aware for a little while of a discordant sound from within the
eating house, a man speaking in the foreigners' language and a woman's voice
translating. The woman's voice interested him, for the accent held a tone of
the East in it, though she spoke in a local dialect,
and there was something about her intonation that was familiar to him.
As they went through the inside room he recognized the foreigner, the one
called Don Joao. He was sure he had never seen the woman kneeling beside him,
yet there was something . . .
While he was pondering who she might be, the man spotted Ishida and called out
to him. Ishida was a great favourite with the foreigners and spent many hours
in their company, exchanging medical knowledge, information on treatment and
herbs, and comparing their customs and language.
Don Joao had met Takeo several times, but always in formal circumstances, and
he did not appear to recognize him now. The foreigner was delighted to see the
doctor and would have liked him to sit and chat, but Ishida pleaded the needs
of a patient. The woman, who might have been twenty-five or so years old,
glanced at Takeo, but he kept his face turned away from her. She translated
Ishida's words - she seemed quite fluent in the foreign tongue - and turned
her gaze towards Takeo again; she seemed to be studying him closely, as though
she thought she might know him in the same way as he thought he knew her.
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She raised her hands to her mouth; the sleeve fell back and revealed the skin
of her forearm, smooth and dark, so like his own, so like his mother's.
The shock was overwhelming, stripping his self-control, turning him into a
scared, persecuted boy. The woman gasped and said, 'Tomasu?'
Her eyes filled with tears. She was shaking with emotion. He remembered a
little girl crying in the same way over a dead bird, a lost toy. He had
imagined her lifeless
over the years, lying next to her dead mother and her older sister - she had
their calm, broad features, and she had his skin. He spoke her name aloud for
the first time in over sixteen years:
'Madaren!'
It drove everything else from his mind: the threat from the East, Fumio's
mission to retrieve the smuggled firearms, Kono, even the pain, even the
kirin. He could only stare at the sister he had imagined dead; his life seemed
to melt and fade away. All that existed in his memory was his childhood, his
family.
Ishida said, 'Lord, are you all right? You are unwell.' He said quickly to
Madaren, 'Tell Don Joao I will meet him tomorrow. Send word to me at
Daifukuji.'
'I will come there tomorrow,' she said, her eyes fixed on Takeo's face.
He regained his self-control and said, 'We cannot speak now. I will come to
Daifukuji; wait for me there.'
'May he bless and keep you,' she said, using the prayer the Hidden use in
parting. Even though it was at his command that the Hidden were now free to
worship openly, it still shocked him to see revealed what had once been
secret, just as the cross Don Joao wore on his breast seemed a flagrant
display.
'You are more unwell than I thought!' Ishida exclaimed when they were outside.
'Shall I sent for a palanquin?'
'No, of course not!' Takeo breathed in deeply. 'It was just the closeness of
the air. And drinking too much wine, too fast.'
'And you received some terrible shock. Did you know that woman?'
'From a long time ago. I did not know she translated for the foreigners.'
'I've seen her before, but not recently - I have been away for months.' The
town was growing quieter, the lights being extinguished one by one, the last
shutter being closed. As they crossed the wooden bridge outside the Umedaya
and took one of the narrow streets that led towards the mansion, Ishida
remarked, 'She did not recognize you as Lord Otori, but as someone else.'
'As I said, I knew her a long time ago, before I became Otori.'
Takeo was still half-stunned by the meeting - and more than half-inclined to
doubt what he had seen. How could it be her? How could she have survived the
massacre in which his family had been destroyed and his village burned?
Doubtless she was not only an interpreter: he had seen that in Don Joao's
hands and eyes. The foreigners frequented brothels like any other men, but the
women were mostly reluctant to sleep with them: only the lowest-class
prostitutes went with them. His skin crawled as he thought of what her life
must have been.
Yet she had called him by name. And he had recognized her.
At the last house before the mansion gates, Takeo drew Ishida into the
shadows. 'Wait here for a short while. I must go inside unobserved. I will
send word to the guards to admit you.'
The gates were already closed, but he tucked the long hem of his robe up into
his sash and scaled the wall lightly enough, though the jolt of landing on the
far side sent the pain throbbing again. Taking on invisibility, he slipped
through the silent garden, past Jun and Shin to his room. He changed back into
his night robes and called for lamps and tea, sending Jun to tell the guards
to let Ishida in.
The doctor arrived: they exchanged delighted greetings, as if they had not
seen each other for six months. The maid poured tea and brought more hot
water, then Takeo dismissed her. He drew off the silk glove that covered the
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crippled hand and Ishida moved the lamp closer so he could see. He pressed the
scar tissue gently with the tips of his fingers and flexed the remaining
digits. The growth of scar tissue had clawed the hand slightly.
'Can you still write with this hand?'
'After a fashion. I support it with the left.' He showed Ishida. 'I believe I
could still fight with the sword, but I have not had reason to for many
years.'
'It does seem inflamed,' Ishida said finally. 'I will try the needles
tomorrow, to open up the meridians. In the meantime, this will help you
sleep.'
As he prepared the tea, he said in a low voice, T often did this for your
wife. I am afraid to meet Kono; just the mention of his father's name, the
knowledge that the son lies somewhere in this mansion, has stirred up many
memories. I wonder if he has grown like his father.'
'I never laid eyes on Fujiwara.'
'You were fortunate. I did his bidding, obeying him in everything, for most of [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]