Shogun_ A Novel of Japan - James Clavell [391]
She hesitated, then shyly picked up the T’ang cha caddy. It was a simple, covered jar without adornment. The orange-brown glaze had run just short, leaving an uneven rim of bare porcelain at the bottom, dramatizing the spontaneity of the potter and his unwillingness to disguise the simplicity of his materials. Buntaro had bought it from Sen-Nakada, the most famous cha-master who had ever lived, for twenty thousand koku. “It’s so beautiful,” she murmured, enjoying the touch of it. “So perfect for the ceremony.”
“Yes.”
“You were truly a master tonight, Buntaro-san. You gave me so much happiness.” Her voice was low and intent and she leaned forward a little. “Everything was perfect for me, the garden and how you used artistry to overcome the flaws with light and shadow. And this”—again she touched the cha caddy. “Everything perfect, even the character you’d written on the towel, ai—affection. For me tonight, affection was the perfect word.” Again tears spilled down her cheeks. “Please excuse me,” she said, brushing them away.
He bowed, embarrassed by such praise. To hide it he began to wrap the caddy in its silken sheaths. When he had finished, he set it into its box and placed it carefully in front of her. “Mariko-san, if our house has money problems, take this. Sell it.”
“Never!” It was the only possession, apart from his swords and longbow, that he prized in life. “That would be the last thing I would ever sell.”
“Please excuse me, but if pay for my vassals is a problem, take it.”
“There’s enough for all of them, with care. And the best weapons and the best horses. In that, our house is strong. No, Buntaro-san, the T’ang is yours.”
“We’ve not much time left to us. Who should I will it to? Saruji?”
She looked at the coals and the fire consuming the volcano, humbling it. “No. Not until he’s a worthy cha-master, equaling his father. I counsel you to leave the T’ang to Lord Toranaga, who’s worthy of it, and ask him before he dies to judge if our son will ever merit receiving it.”
“And if Lord Toranaga loses and dies before winter, as I’m certain he’ll lose?”
“What?”
“Here in this privacy I can tell you quietly that truth, without pretense. Isn’t an important part of the cha-no-yu to be without pretense? Yes, he will lose, unless he gets Kiyama and Onoshi—and Zataki.”
“In that case, set down in your will that the T’ang should be sent with a cortege to His Imperial Highness, petition him to accept it. Certainly the T’ang merits divinity.”
“Yes. That would be the perfect choice.” He studied the knife then added gloomily, “Ah, Mariko-san, there’s nothing to be done for Lord Toranaga. His karma’s written. He wins or he loses. And if he wins or loses there’ll be a great killing.”
“Yes.”
Brooding, he took his eyes off her knife and contemplated the wild thyme sprig, the tear still pure. Later he said, “If he loses, before I die—or if I’m dead—I or one of my men will kill the Anjin-san.”
Her face was ethereal against the darkness. The soft breeze moved threads of her hair, making her seem even more statuelike. “Please excuse me, may I ask why?”
“He’s too dangerous to leave alive. His knowledge, his ideas that I’ve heard even fifth hand … he’ll infect the realm, even Lord Yaemon. Lord Toranaga’s already under his spell, neh?”
“Lord Toranaga enjoys his knowledge,” Mariko said.
“The moment Lord Toranaga dies, that also is the Anjin-san’s death order. But I hope our Lord’s eyes are opened before that time.” The guttering lamp spluttered and went out. He glanced up at her. “Are you under his spell?”
“He’s a fascinating man. But his mind’s so different from ours … his values … yes, so different in so many ways that it’s almost impossible to understand him at times. Once I tried to explain