One of the men, it transpired, the one called Don João, was confusingly both warrior and merchant, the other a priest. It took a long time to converse because Madaren was so anxious not to insult Lady Otori that she spoke in an extremely convoluted and courteous fashion. After several lengthy exchanges about the foreigners’ accommodations and needs, Kaede realized the winter was likely to pass without her learning anything.
“Take them outside and show them the garden,” she said to Fumio. “The woman will stay here with me.”
She told everyone else to leave them. Shizuka glanced questioningly at her as she withdrew.
The men seemed grateful enough to step outside, and while they talked in loud, somewhat strained but mostly good-natured tones, presumably about the garden, Kaede addressed Madaren quietly.
“You must not be afraid of me. My husband has told me who you are. It is better that no one else should know of it, but for his sake I will honor and protect you.”
“Lady Otori is too condescendingly gracious,” Madaren began, but Kaede stopped her.
“I have a request to make of you—and of the gentlemen you serve. You have learned their language; I want you to teach me. We will study every day. When I have learned to speak fluently, I will consider all their requests. The quicker I learn, the more likely these are to be met. I hope you understand me clearly. One of them must come with you, as I must also learn their writing, of course. Tell them that—frame it as a request in whatever way is pleasing to them.”
“I am the lowest of the low, but I will do everything I can to fulfill Lady Otori’s desires.” Madaren prostrated herself again.
“Madaren,” Kaede said, speaking the strange name for the first time. “You are to be my teacher. There is no need to use excessive formality.”
“You are very kind,” Madaren said. She was smiling slightly as she sat up.
“We will begin our lessons tomorrow,” Kaede said.
MADAREN CAME EVERY day, crossing the river by boat and walking through the narrow streets to the house by the river. The daily lessons became part of the household routine, and she became absorbed into its rhythm. The priest, Don Carlo, came with her about twice a week, and taught both women to write in what he called the alphabet, using the finest brushes.
Having reddish hair and beard, and pale green-blue eyes like the sea, he was an object of constant curiosity and wonder, and usually arrived with a trail of children and other people who had nothing better to do. He himself was equally curious, would occasionally seize a child and examine its clothes and footwear, studied every plant in the garden, and often took Madaren out into the fields to interrogate the astonished farmers about crops and seasons. He kept many notebooks, in which he made lists of words and sketches of flowers, trees, buildings, and farming implements.
Kaede saw most of these, for he brought them with him to use as teaching tools, and would often sketch something quickly to explain a word. He was obviously intelligent, and she felt shame-facedly amazed by this, for when she had first set eyes on him, his strange appearance had made her think of him as not quite human.
The language was difficult: Everything about it seemed to be back to front, and it was hard to remember the masculine and feminine forms and the way the verbs changed. One day when she was feeling particularly discouraged, she said to Madaren, “I will never master it. I don’t know how you managed it.” It was particularly galling that Madaren, a woman of low birth and no education, should have become so fluent.
“Well, I learned under circumstances that are not an option for Lady Otori,” Madaren said. Once she had gotten over her shyness, her natural, life-hardened, practical self began to emerge. Their conversation became more relaxed, especially if Shizuka was present, as she usually was. “I made Don João teach me in bed.”
Kaede laughed. “I don’t think my husband had that sort of thing in mind.”
“Don Carlo is free,” Shizuka said teasingly. “Maybe I should try language lessons. Would you recommend the foreigners’ techniques, Madaren? You hear such gossip about their parts; I would like to find out the truth for myself.”
“Don Carlo does not care for that sort of thing,” Madaren said. “He does not seem to desire women—or men, for that matter. In fact, he disapproves strongly. In his eyes, the act of love is what he calls a sin—and love between men particularly shocking.”
It was a concept that neither Shizuka nor Kaede could quite understand.
“Maybe when I know more of his language, Don Carlo will explain it,” Kaede said, joking.
“Don’t ever speak of such things to him,” Madaren begged. “It will embarrass him beyond belief.”
“Is it something to do with his religion?” Kaede said, somewhat hesitantly.
“It must be. He spends a great deal of time in prayer, and often reads aloud from his holy books on attaining purity and controlling the desires of the body.”
“Does not Don João believe the same things?” Shizuka asked.
“Part of him does, but his desires are stronger. He satisfies himself, and then hates himself for it.”
Kaede wondered if this strange behavior extended to Madaren herself, but did not like to ask her directly, just as she did not want to question her about her beliefs, though she was curious to know how similar they were to the foreigners’. She observed the young woman closely when the two men were present, and thought that they did indeed despise her, though both needed her skills and depended on her, and one lusted after her body. She thought the relationship strange and distorted, with manipulation, even exploitation, on both sides. She found herself curious about Madaren’s past, what strange journey had brought her to this place. Often when they were alone together, she was on the verge of asking her what her memories were, and what Takeo was like as a child. But the intimacy such questions would presuppose was too threatening.
Winter drew in. The eleventh month brought heavy frosts; despite the padded clothes and braziers it was hard to stay warm. Kaede no longer dared take exercise with Shizuka—the memory of her miscarriage was always with her, and she dreaded losing this child. Wrapped in fur rugs, she had little to do but study and talk to Madaren.
Just before the moon of the eleventh month letters came from Yamagata. She and Madaren were alone; Shizuka had taken the boys to see the kirin. She murmured her apologies for interrupting the lesson and went at once to her own study—the room where Ichiro used to read and write—and read the letters there. Takeo wrote at length—or rather he had dictated, for she knew Minoru’s hand—informing her of all the decisions that had been made. There were still many preparations to discuss with Kahei and Gemba about the visit to the capital—he was waiting for news from Sonoda about the reception of the messengers. He felt obliged to spend the New Year there.
Kaede was severely disappointed—she had hoped Takeo would have returned before the snows closed the mountain passes. Now she was afraid he would be delayed until the thaw. When she went back to Madaren, she was distracted and felt even her memory was failing her.
“I hope Lady Otori has not had bad news from Yamagata?” Madaren inquired when Kaede made her third elementary mistake.
“Not really. I had hoped my husband would return sooner, that is all.”
“Lord Otori is well?”
“He seems in good health, thank Heaven.” Kaede paused and then said abruptly, “What did you call him, when you were children?”
“Tomasu, lady.”
“Tomasu? It sounds so strange. What does it mean?”
“It is the name of one of the great teachers of the Hidden.”
“And Madaren?”
“Madaren was a woman who, they say, loved the son of God when he walked on earth.”
“Did the son of God love her?” Kaede said, remembering their former conversation.
“He loves us all,” Madaren replied with great seriousness.
Kaede’s interest at that moment was not in the strange beliefs of the Hidden, bu
t in her husband, who had grown up among them.
“I don’t suppose you remember much about him. You must have been still a child.”
“He was always different,” Madaren said slowly. “That’s what I remember most. He didn’t look the same as the rest of us, and he didn’t seem to think in the same way. My father was often angry with him; our mother would pretend to be angry, but she adored him. I was always running after him, pestering him. I wanted him to notice me. I think that’s why I noticed him when I saw him in Hofu. I dreamed about him constantly. I pray for him all the time.”
She fell silent, as if she feared she had said too much. Kaede herself was slightly shocked, though she could not quite explain to herself why.
“We had better resume our studies,” she said in a cooler voice.
“Of course, lady,” Madaren agreed submissively.
That night there was a heavy snow, the first of the year. Kaede woke in the morning to the unfamiliar white light, and almost wept. For it meant the passes would indeed be closed, and Takeo would stay in Yamagata until spring.
KAEDE WAS INTERESTED in the foreigners, and the more she learned of their language, the more she realized she needed to know what they believed in in order to understand them. Don Carlo seemed equally eager to understand her, and when the snow fell, preventing him from going into the fields to conduct his research, he came more frequently with Madaren and their conversations became more involved.
“He watches me in a way that in normal men would be desire,” she remarked to Shizuka.
“Maybe he should be warned about your reputation!” Shizuka replied. “At one time that desire meant death to any man!”
“I have been married for sixteen years, Shizuka! I hope that reputation has been laid to rest by now. Anyway, it is not desire, for we know Don Carlo does not feel such natural urges.”
“We know nothing of the sort! We only know he does not act on them,” Shizuka pointed out. “But if you want to hear my opinion, I think he is hoping to win you over to his religion. He does not desire your body; he desires your soul. He has started talking about Deus, has he not? And explaining the religion of his country?”
“How strange,” Kaede said. “What difference can it make to him what I believe?”
“Mai, the girl we sent to work for them, says Lady Otori’s name is often introduced into conversation between them. Mai’s grasp of their language is not perfect yet, but she feels they hope to win trade and believers, in equal measure, and eventually to gain new land for themselves. This is what they do all over the world.”
“From what they say, their own country lies a huge distance away—a year or more of sailing,” Kaede said. “How can they bear to live so far from home for so long?”
“Fumio says it is a characteristic of all such merchants and adventurers. It makes them very powerful, and dangerous.”
“Well, I cannot imagine adopting their strange beliefs.” Kaede dismissed the idea with scorn. “It seems like nonsense to me!”
“All beliefs can seem like madness,” Shizuka said. “But they can seize people suddenly, almost like the plague. I have seen it happen. Be on your guard.”
Shizuka’s words made Kaede remember the time when she was Lord Fujiwara’s wife, and how she had passed the long days in a mixture of prayer and poetry, holding all the while to the promise the goddess had made to her while she lay in the deep Kikuta sleep as though encased in ice. Be patient: He will come for you.
She felt the child kick within her. Now all her patience was strained to its limit by the pregnancy, the snow, Takeo’s absence.
“Ah, my back aches,” she sighed.
“Let me massage it. Lean forward.” As Shizuka’s hands worked on Kaede’s muscles and spine, she said nothing, and the silence grew more intense, as though she had fallen into a kind of reverie.
“What are you thinking about?” Kaede questioned.
“Ghosts from the past. I often used to sit with Lord Shigeru in this very room. Several times I brought messages from Lady Maruyama—she was a believer, you know.”
“In the teachings of the Hidden,” Kaede said. “I feel the foreigners’ religion, while it seems to be the same, is more dogmatic and intransigent.”
“All the more reason to treat it with suspicion!”
Throughout the winter, Don Carlo introduced her to more words: hell, punishment, damnation, and she remembered what Takeo had said about the all-seeing God of the Hidden and the mercilessness of his gaze. She realized how Takeo had chosen to ignore that gaze, and it made her admire and love him all the more.
For surely the gods were good, and wanted life to continue for all beings in harmony, the seasons passing, night following day and summer winter, and, as the Enlightened One himself taught, death itself no more than a pause before the next birth…
This she tried to explain with her limited vocabulary to Don Carlo and, when words failed, took him to look at the finished carving of the all-merciful Kannon in the shrine that had been built for her.
It was a sudden mild day in early spring. The plum blossoms still hung like tiny flakes of snow to the bare branches in Akane’s garden; the snow underfoot was moist and melting. Despite her dislike of the conveyance, Kaede was carried in the palanquin; she was in the seventh month of pregnancy and was slowed by the weight of the child. Don Carlo rode in a separate one behind her, and Madaren followed him.
The carpenters, under Taro’s leadership, were putting the finishing touches to the shrine, taking advantage of the warmer weather. Kaede was pleased to see that the new building had stood up to the winter well, sheltered by its double roof, the two curves perfectly balanced as Taro had promised they would be, their upward thrust reflected by the protective umbrella of the pines. Snow still lay on the roof, dazzling against the blue sky; melting icicles dripped from the eaves, refracting the light.
The transoms over the side doors were shaped like leaves, and delicate tracery let light into the building. The main door stood open, and the winter sun fell in splashes on the new floor. The wood was the color of honey and smelled as sweet.
Kaede greeted Taro, and stepped out of her sandals onto the veranda.
“The foreigner is interested in your work,” she told Taro, and looked behind her to where Don Carlo and Madaren were approaching the shrine building.
“Welcome,” she said to the priest in his language. “This is a special place for me. It is new. This man made it.”
Taro bowed, and Don Carlo made an awkward gesture with his head. He looked more than usually uncomfortable, and when Kaede said, “Come inside. You must see this man’s most beautiful work,” he shook his head and replied, “I will look from here.”
“You cannot see,” she persisted, but Madaren whispered, “He will not go in; it is against his beliefs.”
Kaede felt a flash of anger at his rudeness, not comprehending at all the reasons behind it, but she was not going to give in so easily. She had listened to him all winter, and had learned much from him. Now he was going to listen to her.
“Please,” she said. “Do as I tell you.”
“It will be interesting,” Madaren encouraged him. “You will see how the building is constructed and how the wood is carved.”
He pulled off his footwear with a show of reluctance, Taro helping him with encouraging smiles. Kaede stepped inside the shrine; the finished statue stood before them. One hand, against her breast, held a lotus flower; the other lifted up the hem of her robe with two slender fingers. The folds of the robe were carved with such exquisite skill they almost seemed to sway in the breeze. The goddess’s eyes looked downward, her expression both stern and compassionate, her mouth archaic in its smile.
Kaede put her hands together and bowed her head in prayer—for her unborn child, for her husband and daughters, and for Akane’s spirit, that it might finally find rest.
“She is very beautiful,” Don Carlo said, with a kind of wonder, but he did not pray.
Ka
ede told Taro how much the foreigner admired the statue, exaggerating his praise to make up for his earlier rudeness.
“It is nothing to do with me,” Taro replied. “My skills are mediocre. My hands listen to what is inside the wood, and help it find its way out.”
Kaede tried to translate this as best she could. Taro, with gestures and sketches, showed Don Carlo the inner construction of the roof, how the struts gave each other mutual support. Don Carlo then brought out his own notebook and drew what he saw, asking the names of the different woods, and what each joint was called.
His eyes strayed often back to the goddess, and then to Kaede’s face.
As they left, he murmured, “I did not think I would find a Madonna in the Orient.”
It was the first time Kaede had heard either word, and she did not know their meaning, but she saw something had increased Don Carlo’s interest in her; it disturbed her. She felt the child kick suddenly and violently, and longed for Takeo to return.
31
The scars left by the claw marks on his face had almost faded when Takeo returned to Hagi at the end of the third month. The snows had barely melted—the winter had been long and harsh. With all the passes closed between the cities of the Three Countries he had not even been able to receive letters, and his anxiety for Kaede had been extreme. He was glad Ishida had stayed with her during her pregnancy, yet regretted the physician’s absence as the bitter weather set all his old wounds aching, and the soothing draught was soon finished. He had spent the long hours of his enforced stay mainly with Miyoshi Kahei, discussing the strategy for the coming spring and the visit to the capital, and going through the records of the administration of the Three Countries. Both lifted his spirits—he felt he was well prepared for whatever might happen on the visit. He would go peacefully, but he would not leave his country undefended. And the administration records confirmed once again how strong the country was, right down to village level, where the system of elders and headmen chosen by the peasants themselves to represent them could be mobilized to defend themselves and their land.