Laura Rowland - The Iris Fan

Yoshisato and Reiko came running. They looked terrified-they knew someone had been cut but not who. Sano wasn’t sure himself. He hurt all over, and the boundary between him and Yanagisawa seemed to have dissolved. Yoshisato and Reiko pulled them apart. Sano couldn’t catch his breath. There was blood all over him and Yanagisawa. Reiko and Yoshisato were crying. As Sano lurched to his feet, Masahiro and Akiko rushed over. They and Reiko supported Sano. Akiko hugged his waist. She wept with joy because Sano was unhurt except for his cut hand and other minor injuries; the blood on his stomach wasn’t his.

Yanagisawa remained lying on the bed, across the dead shogun. The broken, jagged end of the blade stuck out of his belly. Blood spread around it like the petals of a scarlet flower unfurling. The tip had been driven up under his rib cage. His face was white, ghastly, the mask of death upon it.

Numb with disbelief, Sano squinted, as if in the light of a new day.

* * *

As he looked up at Sano standing over him, Yanagisawa was at first too indignant to feel any pain. This wasn’t how it was supposed to end!

He tried to sit up, to see how badly he was hurt. The blade shifted. The pain skewered through him. His whole body, the whole world, was made of the agonizing, indescribable, unbearable pain in his midsection. Yanagisawa’s mouth opened in a scream, but all that came out was a gurgle. Something was wrong with his lungs. As he gasped for breath, his thudding heart pumped blood from his cut viscera, through his abdomen, and out around the hole from which the blade protruded. His bowels released a warm gush; sweat poured from his skin. Freezing cold, he shivered violently. Yanagisawa knew enough about battle injuries to realize that this one was mortal.

He was dying.

He’d recovered from disasters in the past, but there was no recovering from this one. He’d always had a plan for triumphing over them, but all the plans in the world wouldn’t save him now. Death was the one enemy he couldn’t defeat.

Sano had delivered him into the hands of that ultimate enemy.

Helpless, trembling with anger, Yanagisawa beheld Sano, his hatred undiminished by the fact that he had only moments left to live. Sano had shattered his dream of ruling Japan and destroyed him. He whispered, “This isn’t over.” Every word wrung more pain from his innards. “We’ll meet again someday.” Blood frothed from his nose and mouth. “Next time I’ll win.”

Sano’s image blurred. Darkness encroached on Yanagisawa’s vision. His ears filled with a roaring sound like the ocean as the tide of his life force receded. Through it he heard Yoshisato call, “Father!”

Yoshisato knelt beside him, took firm hold of his hand, and kept him from floating out with the tide. The darkness brightened. Yoshisato’s tearful face hovered over him. Disbelief startled Yanagisawa. His tough, obstinate son who hated him was crying!

“Father, you’re going to be all right,” Yoshisato said, clutching Yanagisawa’s blood-smeared hand to his heart. “Just stay with me! Please!”

Yanagisawa dimly realized that Yoshisato had blurted the truth about their relationship. But it didn’t matter to Yanagisawa that the secret was out and he could no longer claim that Yoshisato was the shogun’s son and eligible to inherit the regime. Dying changed a man’s priorities, Yanagisawa discovered. Yoshisato cared about him enough to beg him to live! He wanted to tell Yoshisato how happy he was despite the horrible pain. He wanted to say that this joy was worth dying for and how sad he was that it required his death to bring them together. But he hadn’t enough breath. Fighting the pain, he lifted his other hand, stroked Yoshisato’s cheek, and whispered, “My son.”

Yoshisato cried, “No!” His eyes darkened with horror. It wasn’t that Yoshisato didn’t want to be claimed as his son, Yanagisawa knew. Yoshisato realized that Yanagisawa didn’t care if their fraud was exposed, because Yanagisawa knew he was dying.

“Don’t die, Father!” Yoshisato pleaded.

Yanagisawa wanted to weep, too, because he and Yoshisato had found their way to each other but soon they would be separated forever. He wanted to rail against the unfairness of fate; he wanted to curse Sano. But his fading spirit cleaved to the samurai code of honor he’d ignored all his life. A samurai had only one death and he shouldn’t waste it on unseemly displays of emotion. And Yanagisawa had a better use for his limited time on earth.

He gathered his scarce breath around the vicious pain that sent spasms through his body. “I wish I hadn’t waited until you were seventeen before I got to know you,” he said in a whisper so faint that Yoshisato leaned close to hear. “I wish we’d always been together.” Yanagisawa didn’t apologize for everything he’d put Yoshisato through; he knew that given another chance he would do it again, he would use Yoshisato or anybody else to further his ambition of ruling Japan. Dying didn’t change a man that much. Instead of wasting his last breath on lies, he said, “You’ve made me proud. You’re the best son I could ever have wanted.”

His voice was gone. His lips formed the words he’d never spoken to anyone except in jest or as a means of manipulation. I love you .

The roar in his ears drowned out the sound of Yoshisato’s voice begging him to hang on. The darkness pulsed with his weakening heartbeat, obliterated the world. The tide was unexpectedly warm and comforting. The last thing Yanagisawa felt was Yoshisato’s hand holding his.

A noise like fireworks roused Taeko from a drugged sleep. Her body was stiff from lying in bed too long, her head ached, and the pillow under it was wet. Her eyes were sore, swollen, and crusted, and her mouth tasted sour. She smelled gunpowder and heard shouting and booms outside as she remembered her quarrel with Masahiro.

It was over between them. He was with his wife.

Taeko began to cry again. More firecrackers exploded. She didn’t know what was going on, but she didn’t care. All she could think about was Masahiro. He’d betrayed her, and she’d said terrible things to him, and he’d left her even though he knew about the baby. She hated him! And yet she still loved him so much.

She wished Kikuko would die. Maybe then Masahiro would come back to Taeko. Kikuko was young and healthy, but she might catch a disease or have an accident. But that seemed impossible. So did having the baby. Taeko remembered a pregnant servant girl who’d jumped off the Ryōgoku Bridge and drowned. The idea appealed to Taeko. If she were dead, she wouldn’t feel this pain anymore, and when Masahiro saw her drowned body, he would be sorry about how he’d treated her. He would realize how much he loved her and he would hurt the way she was hurting now.

But even as she imagined walking to the bridge and climbing over the rail, she knew she couldn’t do it. She could kill herself but not the baby she loved so much. Taeko curled up and wept in helpless despair. What was she going to do?

* * *

“Mama, I’m scared,” Kikuko said.

She and Lady Yanagisawa sat in their chamber in the Mori estate, listening to the gunfire outside. “Don’t worry, darling.” Lady Yanagisawa stroked Kikuko’s long hair. “Everything will be all right.”

She kept her voice calm; she mustn’t let Kikuko know how afraid she was. Half her fear was for herself and Kikuko. Any moment the enemy could break into the estate. Half was for Yanagisawa. He could be killed during his attack on Edo Castle. Her lips moved in silent prayer. Please let him be safe! And under that prayer, like the second voice in a duet, came the usual one: Please make him love me!