Shogun_ A Novel of Japan - James Clavell [283]
“To be a witness.”
“Sorry, don’t understand.”
“Mariko-san, explain ‘witness’ to him, that he’s to witness what’s going to happen—then you follow me.” Hiding his vast satisfaction, Yabu turned and left.
Jozen shrieked, “Yabu-sama! Please! Yabuuuuu-samaaaa!”
Blackthorne watched. When it was finished he went home. There was silence in his house and a pall over the village. A bath did not make him feel clean. Saké did not take away the foulness from his mouth. Incense did not unclog the stench from his nostrils.
Later Yabu sent for him. The attack was dissected, moment by moment. Omi and Naga were there with Mariko—Naga as always cold, listening, rarely commenting, still second-in-command. None of them seemed touched by what had happened.
They worked till after sunset. Yabu ordered the tempo of training stepped up. A second five hundred was to be formed at once. In one week another.
Blackthorne walked home alone, and ate alone, beset by his ghastly discovery: that they had no sense of sin, they were all conscienceless—even Mariko.
That night he couldn’t sleep. He left the house, the wind tugging at him. Gusts were frothing the waves. A stronger squall sent debris clattering against a village hovel. Dogs howled at the sky and foraged. The rice-thatched roofs moved like living things. Shutters were banging and men and women, silent wraiths, fought them closed and barred them. The tide came in heavily. All the fishing boats had been hauled to safety much farther up the beach than usual. Everything was battened down.
He walked the shore then returned to his house, leaning against the press of the wind. He had met no one. Rain squalled and he was soon drenched.
Fujiko waited for him on the veranda, the wind ripping at her, guttering the shielded oil lamp. Everyone was awake. Servants carried valuables to the squat adobe and stone storage building in the back of the garden.
The gale was not menacing yet.
A roof tile twisted loose as the wind squeezed under an eave and the whole roof shuddered. The tile fell and shattered loudly. Servants hurried about, some readying buckets of water, others trying to repair the roof. The old gardener, Ueki-ya, helped by children, was lashing the tender bushes and trees to bamboo stakes.
Another gust rocked the house.
“It’s going to blow down, Mariko-san.”
She said nothing, the wind clawing at her and Fujiko, wind tears in the corners of their eyes. He looked at the village. Now debris was blowing everywhere. Then the wind poured through a rip in the paper shoji of one dwelling and the whole wall vanished, leaving only a latticed skeleton. The opposite wall crumbled and the roof collapsed.
Blackthorne turned helplessly as the shoji of his room blew out. That wall vanished and so did the opposite one. Soon all the walls were in shreds. He could see throughout the house. But the roof supports held and the tiled roof did not shift. Bedding and lanterns and mats skittered away, servants chasing them.
The storm demolished the walls of all the houses in the village. And some dwellings were obliterated completely. No one was badly hurt. At dawn the wind subsided and men and women began to rebuild their homes.
By noon the walls of Blackthorne’s house were remade and half the village was back to normal. The light lattice walls required little work to put up once more, only wooden pegs and lashings for joints that were always morticed and carpentered with great skill. Tiled and thatched roofs were more difficult but he saw that people helped each other, smiling and quick and very practiced. Mura hurried through the village, advising, guiding, chivying, and supervising. He came up the hill to inspect progress.
“Mura, you made …” Blackthorne sought the words. “You make it look easy.”
“Ah, thank you, Anjin-san. Yes, thank you, but we were fortunate there were no fires.”
“You fires oftens?”
“So sorry, ‘Do you have fires often?’”
“Do you have fires often?” Blackthorne repeated.
“Yes. But I’d ordered the village prepared. Prepared, you understand?”
“Yes.”
“When these storms