Shogun_ A Novel of Japan - James Clavell [387]
“Who chose that one?”
“I did, Sire. Please excuse me, you asked me to find them an inn on the other side of the bridge. Did I misunderstand you?”
“The Anjin-san?”
“He’s in his room, Sire. He’s waiting in case you want him.”
Again Toranaga shook his head. “I’ll see him tomorrow.” After a pause, he said in the same faraway voice, “I’m going to take a bath now. Then I don’t wish to be disturbed till dawn except …”
Naga waited uneasily, watching his father stare sightlessly into space, greatly disconcerted by his manner. “Are you all right, Father?”
“What? Oh, yes—yes, I’m all right. Why?”
“Nothing—please excuse me. Do you still want to hunt at dawn?”
“Hunt? Ah yes, that’s a good idea. Thank you for suggesting it, yes, that would be very good. See to it. Well, good night … Oh yes, the Tsukku-san has my permission to give a private service tomorrow. All Christians may go. You go also.”
“Sire?”
“On the first day of the New Year you will become a Christian.”
“Me!”
“Yes. Of your own free will. Tell Tsukku-san privately.”
“Sire?”
Toranaga wheeled on him. “Are you deaf? Don’t you understand the simplest thing anymore?”
“Please excuse me. Yes, Father. I understand.”
“Good.” Toranaga fell back into his distracted attitude, then wandered off, his personal bodyguard in tow. All samurai bowed stiffly, but he took no notice of them.
An officer came up to Naga, equally apprehensive. “What’s the matter with our Lord?”
“I don’t know, Yoshinaka-san.” Naga looked back at the clearing. Alvito was just leaving, heading toward the bridge, a single samurai escorting him. “Must be something to do with him.”
“I’ve never seen Lord Toranaga walk so heavily. Never. They say—they say that barbarian priest’s a magician, a wizard. He must be to speak our tongue so well, neh? Could he have put a spell on our Lord?”
“No. Never. Not my father.”
“Barbarians make my spine shake too, Naga-san. Did you hear about the row—Tsukku-san and his band shouting and quarreling like ill-mannered eta?”
“Yes. Disgusting. I’m sure that man must have destroyed my father’s harmony.”
“If you ask me, an arrow in that priest’s throat would save our Master a lot of trouble.”
“Yes.”
“Perhaps we should tell Buntaro-san about Lord Toranaga? He’s our senior officer.”
“I agree—but later. My father said clearly I was not to interrupt the cha-no-yu. I’ll wait till he’s finished.”
* * *
In the peace and quiet of the little house, Buntaro fastidiously opened the small earthenware tea caddy of the T’ang Dynasty and, with equal care, took up the bamboo spoon, beginning the final part of the ceremony. Deftly he spooned up exactly the right amount of green powder and put it into the handleless porcelain cup. An ancient cast-iron kettle was singing over the charcoal. With the same tranquil grace Buntaro poured the bubbling water into the cup, replaced the kettle on its tripod, then gently beat the powder and water with the bamboo whisk to blend it perfectly.
He added a spoonful of cool water, bowed to Mariko, who knelt opposite him, and offered the cup. She bowed and took it with equal refinement, admiring the green liquid, and sipped three times, rested, then sipped again, finishing it. She offered the cup back. He repeated the symmetry of the formal cha-making and again offered it. She begged him to taste the cha himself, as was expected of her. He sipped, and then again, and finished it. Then he made a third cup and a fourth. More was politely refused.
With great care, ritually he washed and dried the cup, using the peerless cotton cloth, and laid both in their places. He bowed to her and she to him. The cha-no-yu was finished.
Buntaro was content that he had done his best and that now, at least for the moment, there was peace between them. This afternoon there had been none.
He had met her palanquin. At once, as always, he had felt coarse and uncouth in contrast to her fragile perfection—like one of the wild, despised, barbaric Hairy Ainu tribesmen that once inhabited the land but were now driven to the far