Laura Rowland - The Iris Fan

Sano and Yoshisato raced through corridors, past gawking officials and servants. Yoshisato strode into the shogun’s bedchamber, then Sano did. The shogun was asleep, his eyes closed in his pale, damp face. A soldier knelt near each side of the bed, the doctor at the end. Along the wall, Yanagisawa and Lord Ienobu sat with Captain Hosono between them. Everybody except the shogun looked up in surprise.

“Mind if I join you?” Yoshisato said.

The shogun’s eyelids fluttered. Everybody else stared at Yoshisato and reared up on their knees. Yanagisawa slumped forward. His right hand braced him against the floor. His left hand clutched his heart. Lord Ienobu’s eyes bulged.

“You weren’t expecting me, were you?” Yoshisato directed his question at Yanagisawa and Ienobu, who’d known all along that he was alive.

Mouth open, Yanagisawa wheezed. Lord Ienobu coiled into himself like a snake trying to hide under a rock. The shogun opened bloodshot, sunken eyes. He gasped, propped himself up on his elbow, and said in a voice filled with awe, “Yoshisato? My son?”

Yoshisato moved toward the shogun. “Yes, Honorable Father, it’s me.”

“Am I dreaming?” The shogun blenched with sudden fear; he raised his hand to stop Yoshisato. “Are you a ghost?”

“No, Honorable Father.” Yoshisato knelt and took the shogun’s hand in his. Sano had told him the shogun had measles, but he appeared unconcerned about catching it. “You can feel that I’m real.”

The shogun pressed his nose and mouth to Yoshisato’s hand as if to inhale Yoshisato, devour him. “You are! The gods have brought you back to life!” He sobbed in ecstasy, then convulsed with pain and moaned.

Lord Ienobu and Yanagisawa watched, dumbstruck. Yoshisato smiled, gratified by the drama he’d created. A woman burst into the room. She had disheveled, graying hair and a sallow complexion; her soiled gray kimono hung on her emaciated figure; she smelled stale, fetid. She cried, “I heard the news. I had to come and find out, is it true? Is Yoshisato alive?” Her hollow eyes spied Yoshisato. She screamed, pushed the shogun away, and flung herself on the young man, then caressed his face while she keened, “Yoshisato! Yoshisato!” and wept.

Yoshisato held her. “Mother.” His voice trembled; his eyes glistened.

It was a scene that Sano wouldn’t have missed for the world. It was a scene that nobody here would ever forget.

“Mother, I have business to discuss with these people.” Yoshisato had his emotions under control again. “Go home and wait for me.”

She stumbled out, weeping with joy. The bewildered shogun studied Yoshisato. “Where have you been all this time?” Noticing Yoshisato’s tattoos, he gasped. “Why are you so changed?”

“I’m glad you asked,” Yoshisato said. “It’s time you learned the truth about my so-called death.”

As he told his story, Sano watched Yanagisawa and Lord Ienobu. Yanagisawa’s face darkened with anger as he heard how Yoshisato had been drugged, kidnapped, and imprisoned. Ienobu’s protuberant eyes skittered, chasing frantic thoughts.

“He let everyone think I was dead.” Yoshisato pointed at Lord Ienobu. “He wanted me out of the way so that he could be the next shogun.”

The shogun collapsed back on the bed. His horrified stare turned on Ienobu. “Is this true, Nephew?”

“It certainly is not.” Ienobu regained his haughty poise. His eyes were steady now, brimming with scorn. “Yoshisato is lying.”

“Of course you would deny it, to save your own ugly skin,” Yoshisato retorted.

Waving his frail hand to interrupt the argument, the shogun said to Ienobu, “If he’s lying, then how do you account for the extra corpse in the fire? How do you explain the fact that my son is alive?”

“The corpse must have been a servant who was in the heir’s residence when the fire started. Yoshisato is responsible for his own absence. He didn’t want to be the next dictator. He has no stomach for politics.” Ienobu’s contemptuous glance called Yoshisato a coward. “When the fire started, he saw his chance. He ran away.”

Yoshisato uttered a shout of disdainful laughter. The shogun demanded, “If Yoshisato doesn’t want to inherit the regime, then why did he come back?”

Perspiration beaded Ienobu’s forehead, but he sat his ground. “Because starting a new life isn’t easy. He decided that being shogun would be nicer than being a gangster.”

“I have to admire you, Lord Ienobu-you think fast on your feet,” Yoshisato said with a pitying smile. “But I have a witness to prove I’m telling the truth.” He looked to Yanagisawa.

* * *

Yanagisawa still couldn’t believe that after he’d searched for Yoshisato for so long, Yoshisato had just strolled into the palace. He felt as if the sun had come out after an endless night. Yoshisato glowed so dazzlingly that Yanagisawa could barely see the other people in the room. Even Sano, the blight on his existence, was a mere shadow. Yanagisawa wanted to feast on the sight of Yoshisato, but if he looked directly at him, he would break down and blubber; his heart overflowed with so much love for Yoshisato, so much joy.

How he regretted that they’d parted on bad terms! He’d let Yoshisato go away thinking he was nothing to Yanagisawa except a political pawn. Now Yanagisawa could tell Yoshisato how he felt. But not yet. Later he could marvel at Yoshisato’s miraculous return. Later he would find out what in the world Yoshisato and Sano were doing together. This was his long-awaited chance to send Lord Ienobu to hell.

Engorged with vengefulness, Yanagisawa rose. Ienobu looked like a snake cornered by a man with an axe. “A few days after the fire, you came to me and told me Yoshisato was alive.” Yanagisawa’s voice was clear, resonant, and loud with the anger that had reopened the airway constricted by shock. “You showed me the letter you made him write to me.”

He felt a sensation like a tight iron band around his chest snapping loose. “My silence and cooperation were the price you put on Yoshisato’s life.” To speak freely again was an exhilarating relief. “You said that unless I helped you become the next shogun, you would kill Yoshisato. But now I don’t have to do any more of your dirty work. I don’t have to keep quiet.” Yanagisawa told the shogun, “Lord Ienobu duped you. He tried to take over the regime by kidnapping your son and holding him hostage. He’s a traitor! He should be put to death!”

Anger encroached on the confusion on the shogun’s face. Yanagisawa had planted a seed of suspicion in him, and it had taken root.

Lord Ienobu stood up on his rickety legs. “Yanagisawa- san is lying! There was no letter, no such conversation. Here’s what really happened, Uncle: After the fire, he came to me. He was terrified that with Yoshisato dead, he would lose his position at court. He begged me to let him work for me so that he wouldn’t become a rōnin and starve!”

“Look at him,” Yanagisawa jeered. “See him shaking. Do you want to know why he’s so afraid?”

The shogun nodded, rapt with attention. Here Yanagisawa had the advantage over Lord Ienobu: Yanagisawa had controlled the shogun for almost three decades; the shogun had been under Ienobu’s influence for a fraction of that time. The shogun raised a hand to prevent Ienobu from speaking. Now Yanagisawa had to make the most of his advantage. There had never been a situation like this; it was an unfamiliar battleground in fast-moving flux. All his instincts, honed by a lifetime in politics, told Yanagisawa that persuading the shogun that Ienobu had kidnapped Yoshisato wouldn’t carry the day. The shogun had limited concern for other people. Yanagisawa had to exploit the shogun’s selfishness in order to stick it to Lord Ienobu.