Shogun_ A Novel of Japan - James Clavell [183]
“It’s the same with us. How do you cook? Over a wood stove?” Blackthorne’s strength had returned quickly and his legs no longer felt like jelly. She had refused to take the litter back, so he lay there, enjoying the air and the conversation.
“We use a charcoal brazier. We don’t eat foods like you do, so our cooking is more simple. Just rice and a little fish, raw mostly, or cooked over charcoal with a sharp sauce and pickled vegetables, a little soup perhaps. No meat—never meat. We’re a frugal people—we have to be, only so little of our land, perhaps a fifth of our soil, can be cultivated—and we’re many. With us it’s a virtue to be frugal, even in the amount of food we eat.”
“Thou art brave. I thank thee. The arrows flew not, because of the shield of thy back.”
“No, Captain of Ships. It cometh from the will of God.”
“Thou art brave and thou art beautiful.”
She walked in silence for a moment. No one has ever called me beautiful before—no one, she thought. “I am not brave and I am not beautiful. Swords are beautiful. Honor is beautiful.”
“Courage is beautiful and thou hast it in abundance.”
Mariko did not answer. She was remembering this morning and all the evil words and evil thoughts. How can a man be so brave and so stupid, so gentle and so cruel, so warming and so detestable—all at the same time? The Anjin-san was limitlessly brave to take Ishido’s attention off the litter, and completely clever to feign madness and so lead Toranaga out of the trap. How wise of Toranaga to escape this way! But be cautious, Mariko, she warned herself. Think about Toranaga and not about this stranger. Remember his evil and stop the moist warmth in your loins that you have never had before, the warmth courtesans talk about and storybooks and pillowbooks describe.
“Aye,” she said. “Courage is beautiful and thou hast it in abundance.” Then she turned to Portuguese once more. “Latin is such a tiring language.”
“You learned it in school?”
“No, Anjin-san, it was later. After I was married I lived in the far north for quite a long time. I was alone, except for servants and villagers, and the only books I had were Portuguese and Latin—some grammars and religious books, and a Bible. Learning the languages passed the time very well, and occupied my mind. I was very fortunate.”
“Where was your husband?”
“At war.”
“How long were you alone?”
“We have a saying that time has no single measure, that time can be like frost or lightning or a tear or siege or storm or sunset, or even like a rock.”
“That’s a wise saying,” he told her. Then added, “Your Portuguese is very good, senhora. And your Latin. Better than mine.” “You have a honeyed tongue, Anjin-san!”
“It’s honto!”
“Honto is a good word. The honto is that one day a Christian Father came to the village. We were like two lost souls. He stayed for four years and helped me immensely. I’m glad I can speak well,” she said, without vanity. “My father wanted me to learn the languages.”
“Why?”
“He thought we should know the devil with which we had to deal.”
“He was a wise man.”
“No. Not wise.”
“Why?”
“One day I will tell you the story. It’s a sadness.”
“Why were you alone for a rock of time?”
“Why don’t you rest? We have a long way to go yet.”
“Do you want to ride?” Again he began to get up but she shook her head.
“No, thank you. Please stay where you are. I enjoy walking.”
“All right. But you don’t want to talk anymore?”
“If it pleases you we can talk. What do you want to know?”
“Why were you alone for a rock of time?”
“My husband sent me away. My presence had offended him. He was perfectly correct to do this. He honored me by not divorcing me. Then he honored me even more by accepting me and our son back again.” Mariko looked at him. “My son is fifteen now. I’m really an old lady.”
“I don’t believe you, senhora.”
“It’s honto.”
“How old were you when you were married?”
“Old, Anjin-san. Very old.