Shogun_ A Novel of Japan - James Clavell [596]
“I quite agree,” Toranaga said. “But great talent merits sacrifice.” He was still watching her throwing her fan, catching her maid’s fan in return, her gaiety infectious. Then both the ladies were obscured by the horses. So sorry, Kiku-san, he thought, but I have to pass you on, to settle you out of reach quickly. The truth is, I really am getting too fond of you, though Gyoko would never believe I had told her the truth, nor will Omi, nor even you yourself. “Kiku-san is worthy of a house of her own. With a husband of her own.”
“Better a consort of the lowest samurai than wife of a farmer or merchant, however rich.”
“I don’t agree.”
For Omi those words ended the matter. Karma, he told himself, his misery overwhelming him. Put your sadness away fool. Your liege lord has decided, so that is the end of it. Midori is a perfect wife. Your mother is to become a nun, so now your house will have harmony.
So much sadness today. And happiness: daimyo of Izu-to-be; Commander of the Regiment; the Anjin-san’s to be kept in Anjiro, therefore the first ship is to be built within Izu—in my fief. Put aside your sadness. Life is all sadness. Kiku-san has her karma, I have mine, Toranaga has his, and my Lord Yabu shows how foolish it is to worry about this or that or anything.
Omi looked up at Toranaga, his mind clear and everything compartmentalized. “Please excuse me, Sire, I beg your forgiveness. I wasn’t thinking clearly.”
“You may greet her if you wish, before you leave.”
“Thank you, Sire.” Omi wrapped up Yabu’s head. “Do you wish me to bury it—or display it?”
“Put it on a spear, facing the wreck.”
“What was his death poem?”
Omi said:
‘“What are clouds
But an excuse for the sky?
What is life
But an escape from death?’”
Toranaga smiled. “Interesting,” he said.
Omi bowed and gave the wrapped head to one of his men and went through the horses and samurai to the far courtyard.
“Ah, Lady,” he said to her with kind formality. “I’m so pleased to see you well and happy.”
“I’m with my Lord, Omi-san, and he’s strong and content. How can I be anything but happy.”
“Sayonara, Lady.”
“Sayonara, Omi-sama.” She bowed, aware of a vast finality now, never quite realizing it before. A tear welled and she brushed it aside and bowed again as he walked away.
She watched his tall, firm stride and would have wept aloud, her heart near breaking, but then, as always, she heard the so-many-times-said words in her memory, kindly spoken, wisely spoken, ‘Why do you weep, child? We of the Floating World live only for the moment, giving all our time to the pleasures of cherry blossoms and snow and maple leaves, the calling of a cricket, the beauty of the moon, waning and growing and being reborn, singing our songs and drinking cha and saké, knowing perfumes and the touch of silks, caressing for pleasure, and drifting, always drifting. Listen, child: never sad, always drifting as a lily on the current in the stream of life. How lucky you are, Kiku-chan, you’re a Princess of Ukiyo, the Floating World, drift, live for the moment….’
Kiku brushed away a second tear, a last tear. Silly girl to weep. Weep no more! she ordered herself. You’re so incredibly lucky! You’re consort to the greatest daimyo himself, even though a very lesser, unofficial one, but what does that matter—your sons will be born samurai. Isn’t this the most incredible gift in the world? Didn’t the soothsayer predict such an incredible good fortune, never to be believed? But now it’s true, neh? If you must weep there are more important things to weep about. About the growing seed in your loins that the weird-tasting cha took out of you. But why weep about that? It was only an “it” and not a child and who was the father? Truly?
“I don’t know, not for certain, Gyoko-san, so sorry, but I think it’s my Lord’s,” she had said finally, wanting his child so much to bind the promise of samurai.
“But say the child’s born with blue eyes and a fair skin? It may, neh? Count the days.”
“I’ve counted and counted, oh, how I’ve counted!