Shogun_ A Novel of Japan - James Clavell [293]
“Thank you, Nanny-san.” Fujiko could smell the hare beginning to cook. What if he asks me to eat it with him, she was thinking, and almost wilted. Even if he doesn’t I’ll still have to serve it. How can I avoid being sick? You will not be sick, she ordered herself. It’s your karma. You must have been completely dreadful in your previous life. Yes. But remember everything is fine now. Only five months and six days more. Don’t think of that, just think about your Master, who is a brave, strong man, though one with ghastly eating habits …
Horses clattered up to the gate. Buntaro dismounted and waved the rest of his men away. Then, accompanied only by his personal guard, he strode through the garden, dusty and sweat-soiled. He carried his huge bow and on his back was his quiver. Fujiko and her maid bowed warmly, hating him. Her uncle was famous for his wild, uncontrollable rages which made him lash out without warning or pick a quarrel with almost anyone. Most of the time only his servants suffered, or his women. “Please come in. Uncle. How kind of you to visit us so soon,” Fujiko said.
“Ah, Fujiko-san. Do—What’s that stench?”
“My Master’s cooking some game Lord Toranaga sent him—he’s showing my miserable servants how to cook.”
“If he wants to cook, I suppose he can, though …” Buntaro wrinkled his nose distastefully. “Yes, a master can do anything in his own house, within the law, unless it disturbs the neighbors.”
Legally such a smell could be cause for complaint and it could be very bad to inconvenience neighbors. Inferiors never did anything to disturb their superiors. Otherwise heads would fall. That was why, throughout the land, samurai lived cautiously and courteously near samurai of equal rank if possible, peasants next to peasants, merchants in their own streets, and eta isolated outside. Omi was their immediate neighbor. He’s superior, she thought. “I hope sincerely no one’s disturbed,” she told Buntaro uneasily, wondering what new evil he was concocting. “You wanted to see my Master?” She began to get up but he stopped her.
“No, please don’t disturb him, I’ll wait,” he said formally and her heart sank. Buntaro was not known for his manners and politeness from him was very dangerous.
“I apologize for arriving like this without first sending a messenger to request an appointment,” he was saying, “but Lord Toranaga told me I might perhaps be allowed to use the bath and have quarters here. From time to time. Would you ask the Anjin-san later, if he would give his permission?”
“Of course,” she said, continuing the usual pattern of etiquette, loathing the idea of having Buntaro in her house. “I’m sure he will be honored, Uncle. May I offer you cha or saké while you wait?”
“Saké, thank you.”
Nigatsu hurriedly set a cushion on the veranda and fled for the saké, as much as she would have liked to stay.
Buntaro handed his bow and quiver to his guard, kicked off his dusty sandals, and stomped onto the veranda. He pulled his killing sword out of his sash, sat cross-legged, and laid the sword on his knees.
“Where’s my wife? With the Anjin-san?”
“No, Buntaro-sama, so sorry, she was ordered to the fortress where—”
“Ordered? By whom? By Kasigi Yabu?”
“Oh, no, by Lord Toranaga, Sire, when he came back from hunting this afternoon.”
“Oh, Lord Toranaga?” Buntaro simmered down and scowled across the bay at the fortress. Toranaga’s standard flew beside Yabu’s.
“Would you like me to send someone for her?”
He shook his head. “There’s time enough for her.” He exhaled, looked across at his niece, daughter of his youngest sister. “I’m fortunate to have such an accomplished wife, neh?”
“Yes, Sire. Yes you are. She’s been enormously valuable to interpret the Anjin-san’s knowledge.”
Buntaro stared at the fortress, then sniffed the wind as the smell of the cooking wafted up again. “It’s like being at Nagasaki, or back in Korea. They cook meat all the time there, boil it or roast it. Stink—you’ve never smelled anything like it.