47 Ronin Page 14

  He stared at her, realizing that there was nothing he could say to stop her.

  “Am I right?” she repeated, and then effortlessly drew the shiny blade out of its scabbard to hold it raised high over her head in a mock gesture of attack.

  Oishi merely grunted and continued to stare. Suddenly she broke into a peal of laughter and returned the sword to its scabbard. She let it drop to the floor and stood there, continuing to laugh in triumph and relief that she had been right.

  Oishi’s face broke into a smile and then he began to laugh, too. Stealthily he moved his foot to hook behind her leg. He pulled gently behind her knee and she let herself be pulled down on top of him. If she were a spy, he was thinking—but his thoughts were interrupted by her round hot mouth on his and he gave himself to her as she desired. It cannot be denied that a charred post is easily set afire.

  Chapter Thirteen

  In the archery shop in Osaka, Hara was greatly disturbed. His hands trembled as he lifted a bow and notched an arrow, and his aim was so bad that he missed the cloth target altogether.

  Under his breath he cursed. Never in his life had he been so upset about anything. Even moving out of the castle at Ako had not robbed him of his faith in eventual justice as much as had his encounter with Oishi.

  Hara was an uncomplicated man and could only believe what he could see. He felt defiled and insulted by Oishi’s actions and even reproached himself for not killing his leader on the spot. In spite of their long friendship, there were limits to what a samurai could endure.

  Fortunately he was alone at the moment and no one could see his bad marksmanship. He would have to get a better grip on himself before any of the townspeople came for their lessons. His temper was so frayed since returning from Kyoto that their clumsiness was bound to irritate him even more than usual.

  In fact, he reflected, he had had only one really promising student since he opened shop. Of course, the school was only a front, but he derived some satisfaction from having gotten the rudiments of archery over to one muscular young man. This smiling fellow was named Konishi and he had become Hara’s assistant and almost constant companion. He expressed great admiration for Hara’s prowess with a bow and begged for stories about the castle life in Ako. He said he was the son of a merchant and had never personally known any samurai before.

  This show of interest was flattering and Hara took extra pains with his lessons. He reflected that if the young man continued to show progress he might even speak to Oishi about finding some way for him to help with their enterprise. But then he recalled his last meeting with Oishi and snorted angrily. He would never ask Oishi for anything again. When it came to the matter of revenge, he would take it himself if needs be.

  His thoughts were interrupted by Konishi’s noisy arrival. The young man ran in breathlessly and bowed low in a swift movement that took his knees and head to the floor in one continuous movement.

  “Hey! What’s the matter now?” Hara asked roughly.

  Konishi raised his head and grinned. “Sensei,” he said, addressing Hara with the honorific term of teacher, “You’ll never guess who I saw in Osaka today!”

  “I’m in no mood for guessing games,” Hara said, turning away.

  “One of your countrymen!” the young man went on excitedly and Hara turned back to face him.

  “Someone from Ako?”

  “Yes, he’s in business here and seems to be doing quite well.”

  “In business? Who could that be? Did you learn his name?”

  “Oh no. I only recognized the crest of Ako on his place of business.”

  “Mmm. And what kind of business was it? Not another archery school?”

  “No, sensei. It was a dry goods store—quite a large one.”

  “Dry goods? . . . Who could that be? . . .”

  Hara mused for a moment, then abruptly started out of the shop.

  “Come on,” he said roughly. “Show me where you saw the crest of Asano on a dry goods store.”

  Konishi scrambled to his feet and with a smile followed him out.

  It was only a short walk through the bustling streets of Osaka to the store that had so excited Konishi. When they reached it, he pointed and grinned, and Hara, until now not convinced that the boy was telling a straight story, winced in spite of himself. Sure enough, there before an ordinary dry goods store, in plain view of all the passers-by, was the Asano crest, displayed like a sign advertising noodles or rice.

  Hara gritted his teeth and started forward, the boy following. In spite of his preoccupation, Hara knew that he should not involve his young assistant in clan affairs and gruffly ordered him to wait outside. Then he marched on into the store.

  Inside, he looked around for some clue to the owner’s identity but found nothing. There were bolts of cloth being displayed to customers by several young salesmen but Hara did not recognize any of them. Then he heard a familiar voice and looked around. Coming out of a back room with some special goods for display was the old treasurer of the Asano clan, Ono!

  Hara was momentarily surprised, but then he realized that he had no reason to be. Ono was the kind who would think nothing of rubbing the family crest in the dirt if it would help him get ahead. Whether the money he had used to go into business was gained by honest means or not, Hara had no way of knowing. But he did have some ideas about Ono’s present affluence and some uses that could be made of it.

  He stepped forward and grabbed Ono roughly by the collar.

  “Please,” he said to the old man, whose face had turned suddenly white, “show me some of your special wares.”

  He pushed Ono back the way he had come, back into a storeroom where they could talk alone. He rested the old man on a roll of material and folded his arms as he stood in front of him.

  “I must congratulate you, Ono-san, on your prosperity. You must be doing better than any of the ronin of Ako.”

  There was no hint of a threat in his voice but Ono was not fooled. He knew perfectly well where he stood in Hara’s eyes.

  “Now just a minute, old friend, there’s nothing wrong with what I’ve done. . . .”

  “Did I say there was?” Hara asked innocently. “I think you’ve done remarkable things with the small amount of pension we all received. I always knew that you had a feel for money—now I can see that you know how to make it increase as well.”

  “I’ve worked hard here, my friend,” Ono said defensively. “My son and I have put in long hours to make this a going concern.”

  “And you deserve every credit,” Hara said, nodding in agreement.

  Ono shifted uneasily. There was something coming that he was sure he would not like, but he still could not quite fathom Hara’s intentions. There was one stratagem that always worked, however, and he decided the time had come to use it.

  “I’m sorry if things have been hard for you,” he said with a sickly grin. “I’ve noticed that you have few customers at your archery school. I’ve meant to stop in several times, but as I say, there’s always the press of business. . . .”

  Hara said nothing, so he continued.

  “As a matter of fact I was saying to my son just the other day, ‘Why not ask Hara to come in with us? He’d be a good worker and I’m sure he could use the extra money.’”

  Hara continued to regard him without expression and Ono talked a little faster.

  “Could I help you out now, old friend? Perhaps a loan . . .”

  The old man scrambled to his feet and hurried to a corner of the room to dig out a cash box from under a pile of goods.

  “See! This is the reward for sound investment of capital and labor. Take as much as you need! I’ll just make a note of the amount and . . .”

  Hara calmly walked over and took the box in one huge hand. He had found the perfect solution for replenishing the coffers that Oishi was robbing. Without another word he started to walk out of the store while Ono gaped after him like a dying fish.

  “But no—not all. You can’t do thi
s!”

  Hara stopped and turned to him.

  “It’s for a worthy cause, not for my use. You’ll be glad you made such a fine contribution.”

  He started out, then turned again.

  “And take down the Asano crest you have hanging outside, will you?” he said politely. “If you don’t, I’ll come back and take a sword to you as you deserve.”

  Ono continued to stare after him as he left. Then he kicked a bolt of material with a savage curse. He had been robbed in his own store and there was nothing he could do about it.

  On the way out, Hara bumped into Ono’s son coming in. One glance at the cash box told the young man all he needed to know and he hurried past Hara with a quick bow. Hara snorted. The boy had no more spine than his father. The clan was well rid of both of them.

  Outside he rejoined Konishi, who was dying with curiosity about what had happened in the store, but Hara said nothing. Resolutely he strode though the dust-filled street, emptying of shoppers now in the late day, back to the archery shop where he could count the money undisturbed. He had very specific plans for the use of these funds and none of them included his old leader, Oishi. Tonight he would write to Horibe and start things rolling toward what those followers with real courage desired most.

  Chapter Fourteen

  One morning Okaru was surprised to receive a messenger with a note from her old employer, the proprietor of the Flying Crane. In it, Hoshino stated that he would be paying her a call that day if she had no objection. Oishi was out and she was alone in the house, except for Chikara and the little maiko she had brought to live with her. She saw no harm in the request for a meeting, and sent a note of acceptance back to him, although she had thought her ties with the Flying Crane was severed.

  Okaru had an odd background for a geisha, although her little maiko was the only one with whom she ever discussed it. She was the daughter of a farmer who had been forced off his land by the consequences of the Life Preservation Laws. To support his family he had taken the shameful step of going into business, thereby dropping two steps down the social ladder of samurai, farmer, artisan, and merchant. Last, of course, came the eta, but they didn’t really count in the social structure at all.

  For a time things were not easy for her father in his new line of work, but then things began to go too well and that was his downfall. He became so successful in business that he foolishly began to spend his money on fancy clothes and other items more suitable for those of noble descent, at least in the eyes of the nobles. His expenditures came to the attention of the city governors and they in turn reported the matter to Edo. Almost immediately a message came from the Shogun in the form of an order to her father. He was to contribute “voluntarily” the funds necessary to erect a new Buddhist temple in the ever expanding suburbs of Osaka. He had no choice but to obey and the subsequent cost of materials and labor took every last cent of his fortune, just as the Shogun had planned. So he ended up where he had started, penniless, feeling himself more disgraced than ever, and lacking the spirit to try again. He died not long after his money was gone and his wife followed him within weeks. With a younger brother to support, Okaru was fortunately able to make use of her education in the graceful arts and had become a geisha.

  She had not minded her life at the Flying Crane—anything was better than starving—and by devoting herself assiduously to the more difficult customers, she gained a reputation for herself as an expert soother of sorrows. Her employer recognized her value and gave her special privileges, but she was on such good terms with the other geisha that they were not jealous. Hoshino had hated to lose her, but the offer from Shindo and Koyama to buy her freedom was a generous one, and besides it coincided with Okaru’s own wishes.

  From their first meeting she had been attracted to Oishi, although she could not have said why. Perhaps it was the fact that he had lost something dear, yet had not given up hope of getting it back again that gave them something in common. She had been through such a heartbreaking experience herself and now saw an opportunity to help him. At any rate, she had not hesitated long when invited to join his household. She did not know until later that it was not Oishi’s own idea for her to come live with him, but fortunately that had worked out all right, too. Now that she was there, she knew she would never leave voluntarily and she hoped he would never leave her. But it was only a small hope, for Okaru was a feeling, intelligent girl and for her it was plain to see that he was a man with a mission. The most she could ask for was to help him accomplish it.

  But she wondered what it was Hoshino wanted. Did he miss her services and want her back? It was unusual for a girl to return to the pleasure quarters once she had left. And it was next to impossible for a first-class geisha to ever resume that position after she had spurned all her regular customers to go and live with one man.

  Hoshino arrived on schedule, fat and panting and leaving a trail of steam. Strangely, he was alone, although he usually traveled with a retinue of servants or a footman at the very least. He laboriously climbed down out of the palanquin and entered the house.

  “Ah, Okaru!” he called out in admiration and longing when he saw her. He had forgotten just how lovely she was and regretted more than ever that he had sold her away. She bowed low in greeting and then they went on into the house.

  Kataoka arrived back at Yamashina before anyone else that evening. He had made another trip to Osaka to try to reason with Hara but it had been as fruitless as ever. He was surprised to see the palanquin waiting in front of the house and was about to check on its ownership when he saw someone coming out of the house and paused in the shadow of the wall.

  He was perturbed at the sight of the fat Hoshino and tried to imagine some reason for such a visit. He drew a blank, however, and this troubled him. By moving in with Oishi, Okaru had cut herself free from the Flying Crane and it was presumptuous of Hoshino to try to re-establish their relationship. Ka­taoka was more than a little annoyed, besides being puzzled, and decided to follow the palanquin to see where it would go next. A little spying of his own might be profitable, he thought, and he took care to keep out of sight of the komuso across from the house.

  Hoshino’s path led straight back to the geisha house and Kataoka was about to return to Yamashina in disappointment when he saw that two men were waiting in an outer garden for the fat proprietor’s return. They went up to him immediately and Kataoka could see that their discussion, whatever it was, was not on the most friendly terms. The two men kept their backs to the entrance, but Kataoka could see that Hoshino was bowing and begging for something, probably money. One of the two men roughly handed him a few coins and they abruptly withdrew, leaving him to wipe his face with an already damp rag.

  Now the two men came closer to Kataoka and he stood quietly beside an ornamental wall outside the garden until they passed. When he could see their faces, he drew in his breath in sudden shock. One of the men was tall, thin, and deep voiced; it was none other than Fujii, the chief of the spies who had been following them for so many months! When they had gone by without noticing him, he quickly left the garden and hurried back to Yamashina.

  “You slut!” he screamed, and hit her again the mouth.

  Okaru’s hand went to her face as she fell heavily back against the wall, but she uttered not a sound.

  Kataoka grabbed her by the collar of her kimono and pulled her to him. Again he struck her and again she fell in silence. Blood was running from a corner of her mouth as she faced him with a pleading look in her eyes, but he paid no attention.

  “How could you do such a thing—and to the man you say you love!”

  He pulled her forward and was about to strike her with his clenched fist full in the face when the door behind him crashed opened and Oishi, his eyes blazing, took one long step into the room and seized Kataoka’s arm.

  “What are you doing to her? Have you gone mad?”

  Kataoka tearfully sank to his knees.

  “I wish I had gone mad. I wish I had n
ot seen what I saw.”

  “What did you see?” Oishi demanded, still holding Kataoka’s arm and staring in bewilderment at the disheveled Okaru.

  “I would rather die than to have to tell you this—but she’s a spy!”

  Oishi dropped Kataoka’s arm and took a step backward as though he was the one who had been struck. Okaru began to sob but if she was trying to say something, Oishi could not hear her.

  He moved slowly toward the door, pausing only to mutter indistinctly. “Get out. Take your things and go.”

  Then he was gone and Kataoka continued to kneel, staring sightlessly at the floor. Okaru sobbed against the wall until her knees gave way and she sank to the floor with a half-crazed expression in her wide eyes.

  It was Chikara who found her, late that night. He was awakened by a scream and dashed into the women’s wing of the house. It was the little maiko who screamed but all she could do was point inside Okaru’s room when Chikara appeared.

  Okaru was hanging by her own scarf from a ceiling beam and Chikara, his eyes wide with dread, sprang forward to support her and to untie the knot. He lowered her to the floor and was listening for her heartbeat when she groaned faintly and he knew she was alive.

  “Quickly,” he told the little girl in the hallway. “Get my father.”

  “But I saw him,” Kataoka was repeating. “He was the spy we’ve all been avoiding for all these months—Fujii. He was paying fat old Hoshino for his services directly after he had come from seeing Okaru. What else was I to think?”

  “Be quiet,” Oishi growled as he knelt beside the motionless form of his mistress, and tried to force some tea into her mouth. “I believe everything you say. But I should have listened to her side of it, too. Does this look like the act of a spy?” And he indicated the still form of the girl, the mark of the scarf still on her throat.