“I still have my studies”-he gestured toward the book-“and one friend, Mura, who helps me because he chooses to. But everything else is gone. I live in disgrace; I will die in disgrace. Often my pain and shame are almost unbearable. So I am the last person who would advise you to throw away your future prospects for the sake of your ideals.”
Sano felt like a man who has opened a secret treasure box only to find nothing inside. Somehow he’d expected more from Ito than the same conventional words he could have heard from anyone else.
Then Dr. Ito said, “But I will not tell you to forsake your ideals, either. You would not be able to live with yourself if you did.” He paused, gazing at Sano with a strange mixture of pity and approval. “I know this because I see much of myself in you. Giri, ninjō,” he finished with a sigh. “Tatemae, honne.”
“Yes.” Sano nodded, thinking how well his situation illustrated the two classic conflicts Ito had cited: duty versus desire, conformity versus self-expression. Eternal and unresolvable.
“Each man must decide for himself what matters most,” Ito began.
Sano waited. The flickering lamp made a hollow of brightness that contained only him and Ito. For now, the outside world didn’t exist.
“Each man must know when he has decided, and know what his decision is. I think you do, Sano-san.”
Sitting perfectly still as he absorbed Dr. Ito’s words, Sano gazed with unfocused eyes into the lamp’s flame. Images began to form in his mind. His dying father, symbol of the duty set out for him in the Way of the Warrior. Katsuragawa Shundai, who represented the status and rewards he could attain if he fulfilled that duty. But other images superseded these: Yukiko’s body burning on its pyre; the weeping Wisteria; Raiden’s bewildered face; Tsunehiko laughing as he rode along the Tōkaido. These images burned brighter than the others, lit as they were by the fire of Sano’s need for truth and justice. Time passed. The fire consumed the tangle of his uncertainty, leaving his mind clear and his head light. His breath escaped in a short laugh directed at his own self-delusion. He realized that Dr. Ito was right. He had decided, and he would continue his hunt for the murderer. Even if it meant sacrificing security and prosperity, and even his life. Honor must return to him as a result of following his own path, or not at all. And his father’s life depended upon his self-redemption. All his walking and thinking had been nothing but an attempt to avoid acknowledging these facts.
“Thank you for your hospitality and your insight, Ito-san,” he said. “Both have helped me beyond measure. But I mustn’t impose upon you any longer.”
He started to rise, feeling strengthened by the doctor’s solicitude but no more at peace than he had been when he’d arrived. With no authority and nothing but his own inadequate skills to rely upon, how would he bring a powerful, seemingly invincible murderer to justice?
“It is late,” Ito said. “The city gates will have already closed. You cannot return home tonight. Mura will make a bed for you here. Sleep, and in the morning you will have the strength and wisdom to do whatever you must.”
Chapter 20
The next morning found Sano back in the daimyo district. Dressed in a peasant’s shaggy straw rain cape and wide straw hat, he walked up and down the wide boulevard in front of the Niu’s yashiki, ostensibly collecting litter, but in reality watching their gate. Every so often he skewered some trash with his pointed stick and put it in his basket, hoping he could convince the guards that he was a street cleaner with every right to loiter outside their lords’ houses. He couldn’t let them identify him as ex-yoriki Sano Ichirō, barred from the Niu estate and keeping secret surveillance on young Lord Niu. If the Nius or Magistrate Ogyu found out what he was doing, he would be arrested, if not killed on the spot.
Sano pretended to scan the street for debris, while watching for Lord Niu to make an appearance. Subterfuge didn’t come naturally to him, but he had no choice except to wait and hope Lord Niu would lead him to evidence that he’d committed the murders. He had no authority or help, as Katsuragawa had reminded him, not enough money to buy answers, and no other way to avoid the ubiquitous Edo spies. The memory of what Midori had told him about Yukiko’s diary flashed through his mind. He had no other way of learning what Lord Niu had done that he would kill to hide.
Despite his minimal chance of success, Sano experienced a curious buoyancy of spirit. He was now free to use unconventional means of detection, and he had unlimited time at his disposal. He had no responsibilities to anyone but himself. He could pursue truth and justice as he chose, and somehow save his father’s life. A true rōnin, he could live-or die-by his own wits. Although he yearned for the security of a master, his new freedom filled him with a terrifying exhilaration. The future had opened up before him, blank, yet hinting at unknown possibilities.
But his necessary disguise anchored Sano to the grimness of here and now. The cape, though it protected him from the chill drizzle, chafed his neck and wrists. Cold mud oozed through his straw sandals and into his socks; every step squished. And how humiliating for a samurai to dress like a common farmer! He also felt naked and vulnerable on foot, with his only weapon the short sword tucked into his sash under the cape. Missing his horse and his long sword, which he’d left behind because they marked his rank, he hoped he wouldn’t need them. He was glad to discover, though, that his costume made him virtually invisible; people hurried past without glancing down from their horses or out from under their umbrellas at him.
Thirty-seven paces brought him to Lord Niu’s gate. He took his time scooping horse droppings into his basket. No one entered or left the yashiki. Finally, not wanting to attract attention by staying too long in one place, Sano moved on. He left a few droppings as an excuse to return.
He looked casually over his shoulder whenever he picked up a scrap of debris. Reaching the end of the street, he turned and worked his way back again. This time three samurai wearing the Niu dragonfly crest entered the gate. Two more passes later, they came out. Still Lord Niu didn’t appear. Sano began to feel increasingly conspicuous. The street was free of litter now, and he wished someone would drop something so he would have a legitimate reason to stay. He lingered outside the Nius’ yashiki for as long as he dared, then started on another tour.
“Hey, you!” At first, Sano didn’t respond. People didn’t address a samurai that way. Then he remembered his disguise and turned toward the voice.
“The street is clean enough,” called one of the guards from the Niu gatehouse, “and I’m sick of looking at you. Get lost, you dirty beast!”
Dirty beast! All thirty years of Sano’s samurai upbringing rebelled against the insult. Furious, he stared at the guard. An angry retort sprang to his lips. He dropped his stick, and his hand reached automatically for the sword that wasn’t there.
“Well, what are you waiting for?” The guard came out of the gatehouse and started toward Sano, brandishing a small object.
It was a lighted match.
Laughing, the guard called to his comrades, “Shall I make him dance?” To Sano: “If you want to keep your filthy rain cape and your filthy life, you’d better run!”
“Yes, master!”
Shaken, Sano bowed low in accordance with his humble status. He picked up his stick and made a hasty retreat around the corner. There he stood, struggling to control his anger and shock. That guard, fearing no harsher punishment than a reprimand, might have set him on fire, killing him the way Lord Matsukura of Shimabara had once killed peasants who’d failed to meet their rice production quota! Finally his body stopped trembling. His breathing slowed and evened. He inspected his surroundings and tried to think of a way to maintain his watch for Lord Niu.