At the end of the week, they made a short journey into the mountains to the east of Hagi. Kenji was an excellent companion, endlessly knowledgeable about wild plants and animals, acquainted with many hidden paths that led deep into the forest, tireless, and prepared to endure all the discomforts and surprises of travel with sardonic good humor.
He also told Shigeru a certain amount about the Tribe, but when, once home, Shigeru started to write this information down, he realized it was largely superficial-an address, a family relationship, some old story of punishment or revenge. Kenji deftly avoided giving any real details. Shigeru began to believe he would never penetrate the wall of secrecy the Tribe had constructed around themselves and their activities, never discover his half brother…
Kenji came once more before winter put an end to such journeys, and then again in the fourth month of the following year. He always brought news of events beyond the Middle Country: the continued good health of Iida’s son, the warlord’s various conquests, the sporadic persecution of the Hidden, Arai Daiichi fretting with impatience in Noguchi castle, the Shirakawa’s oldest daughter, Kaede, who had been sent to the same castle that year as a hostage. Occasionally, he had news from Maruyama, and Shigeru listened to it impassively, hoping Kenji would not discern his quickened heartbeat, silently giving thanks that she was well, that her daughter was not yet a hostage.
The summer was hot, with early, violent typhoons, bringing the usual anxieties about the harvest. Shigeru’s mother was unwell on and off throughout the summer-the heat did not agree with her, and her temper became very unpredictable.
After the full moon of the tenth month, the weather finally began to cool. The meeting with Naomi the previous year seemed like something imagined. Shigeru had almost given up hope of ever hearing from her again when a messenger brought a letter from Eijiro’s widow, saying that she had been given permission to make one last journey to her old home to dedicate a memorial to her husband and sons in their former local temple. Was it possible for Lord Shigeru to attend? It would mean so much to her and to the spirits of the dead. She would be traveling with her sister, Sachie. They did not expect an answer but would be there at the next full moon.
Shigeru was puzzled by this message: did it mean she would be there too? Yet the occasion sounded like a formal one: if he went, he would have to go as Otori Shigeru, not as some unrecognized traveler. Eijiro’s lands had been ceded to the domain of Tsuwano, which was still part of the Middle Country but whose lord, Kitano, was in favor of alliance with the Tohan and no friend to Shigeru. Was Kitano setting up a trap for him on behalf of Iida Sadamu?
Yet for all his suspicions, the remote possibility of seeing her meant he had to go. He approached his uncles for permission to travel and was surprised, delighted, and alarmed in equal measures when this was readily granted. He put his affairs in order as far as he could, in case he should not return, and set out on Kyu with a few of his own retainers, reflecting that it was a very different way of traveling compared to his recent journeys with Kenji, on foot and in unmarked clothes. Now he wore the formal clothes of a lord of the Otori clan, and Jato rested undisguised at his hip.
The excessive heat and the typhoons had resulted in a poor harvest, and he saw signs of hardship in villages and farms, where fields had been destroyed and buildings not yet restored. Yet the weather was fine and mild, the colors of autumn just beginning to stain the forest, as they had two years ago when he had traveled in secret to meet Lady Maruyama at Seisenji. It was the first time he had ridden this way since then, and he could not help being aware of the effect his appearance had on the people. They thronged to watch him pass and followed him with eyes in which he imagined he saw a desperate appeal not to forget them, not to abandon them.
Eijiro’s old house was still standing, and to Shigeru’s surprise Lord Kitano’s younger son, Masaji, greeted him when he rode through the gate.
“Father wanted me to take over the estate,” he explained, looking a little embarrassed, as though like Shigeru he was remembering the day when they had been made welcome here by Eijiro himself, had competed with his sons and daughters. Now the men of the family were all dead and the women in exile. “Lord Otori Eijiro was a fine man,” he added. “We are happy to accommodate his wife in this matter of the memorial and delighted Lord Shigeru could also attend.”
Shigeru inclined his head slightly but said nothing in reply.
“The ceremony will be held tomorrow,” Masaji said. “In the meantime, you must enjoy our hospitality.”
The younger man was both uncomfortable and nervous, Shigeru realized.
“You would like to bathe, no doubt, and change your clothes. Then we will eat with my wife and the ladies. Lady Maruyama is also here; her companion is Lady Eriko’s sister, and their brother, Lord Sugita, accompanied them.”
Relief, joy, desire, all came flooding through him. She was here; he would see her. He nodded but still did not speak, partly because he did not trust his voice, partly because he could see Masaji was intimidated and unnerved by his silence. Despite all that had happened since they last met, Masaji still held him in awe and treated him with deference. It both amused and consoled him.
THE OLD HOUSE had been redecorated, new mats laid, new paper screens installed. Its intrinsic beauty was enhanced, but the warmth that had made it so charming was gone forever.
When he was shown into the room where the ladies were already seated, he did not dare look at Naomi. He was aware of her presence, could smell her fragrance. Again, it was like a blow. He concentrated his attention on Lady Eriko, thinking how unbearably sad for her it must be; indeed, her face was pale and strained, though her manner was composed. They greeted each other warmly, and then Eriko said, “I believe you have met Lady Maruyama and my sister.”
Naomi said, raising her eyes to his, “Lord Otori and I met by chance at Terayama several years ago.”
“Yes, I remember,” he said, amazed that his voice matched hers in calmness. “I trust Lady Maruyama is well.”
“Thank you, I am recovered. I am well now.”
“You have been sick?” he said too rapidly, unable to mask his concern.
Her eyes smiled at him, as if trying to reassure him.
“Lady Maruyama was very ill for a long time,” Sachie said quietly. “There has been a lot of plague in the West this summer.”
“My mother has also been unwell,” he said, striving for a conversational tone. “But the cooler autumn weather has restored her health.”
“Yes, the weather has been beautiful,” Naomi said. “I have heard so much about this place but have never visited it before.”
“My husband will show Lady Maruyama around,” Masaji’s very young wife began nervously.
“Lord Shigeru is the farming expert,” Masaji interrupted her. “He was always more interested in such things than the rest of us. And now he is called the Farmer.”
“Then perhaps Lord Otori will show me around tomorrow,” Naomi said. “After the memorial service.”
“If it is Lady Maruyama’s wish,” he replied.
THE SERVICE WAS held in the small shrine in the garden, and tablets with the names of the dead man and his sons were placed before the altar. Their bones lay in the earth of Yaegahara, along with ten thousand others’. Smoke from incense rose straight upward in the still air, mingling with the sharp scents of autumn. A stag barked in the forest, and wild geese cried distantly as they crossed the sky.
Shigeru had spent the previous evening and the night swinging between sheer happiness at being in her presence and despair at being unable to touch her, take her in his arms, even to talk to her openly without watching every word. They had hardly addressed each other, and when they did, it was in formal language on unimportant matters. When they had the opportunity to walk alone together through the fields, still in sight though out of earshot, they were constrained and reserved.