Laura Rowland - The Iris Fan

When he reached Kan’ei Temple, Sano left his horse and retinue outside the cemetery. He entered the gold-trimmed, red double gate flanked by pillars. On a stone pedestal surrounded by evergreen trees and snow stood the shogun’s funerary urn-a big stone drum with symbolic carvings. A few wooden prayer stakes were planted in the ground around the base amid a few rice cakes, cups of sake, and lit candles. The fact that the shogun had the measles had been kept quiet, and so had the stabbing. The citizens wouldn’t learn of his death until they returned to Edo, and in the aftermath of the war, his officials and troops were too busy to visit his grave.

Sano pressed his prayer stake into the hard soil. He bowed his head as he came to the humbling realization that although it was easy to criticize someone else’s shortcomings as a dictator, it would be harder to avoid making mistakes now that he was in effect the dictator himself. The shogun had taught him a valuable lesson-how not to rule a nation. How to rule it well was up to Sano.

He heard a step behind him, turned, and saw Lord Yoshimune. “I hope you don’t mind my joining you.”

“Not at all.” Sano was finished, for now.

“I want to thank you,” Lord Yoshimune said as they stood side by side at the grave. “So does my cousin Tomoe. If you hadn’t discovered that it was Lady Nobuko who stabbed the shogun, we might have been put to death by now.”

“All in a day’s work.”

“I’d like to repay you for saving my life and Tomoe’s. Whatever I can do for you, just ask.”

Sano recognized that Yoshimune, like any astute politician, wanted to be on the good side of the power behind Lord Ienobu. “Support the new shogun.” Lord Yoshimune had already helped him bring the council under his control. “Tell the other daimyo to do the same.”

“That’s little enough. I suppose you’d rather not call in the whole favor until I’m in a position to do more for you.” Contemplating the grave, Yoshimune said, “I’ll be shogun someday.”

“When Lord Ienobu dies, his son will inherit the dictatorship. His son’s only two. He could reign for a long time and outlive you.”

Yoshimune shrugged, unperturbed. “Anything can happen. The events of the past few days have proved that. Besides, I feel lucky.” His grin showed a hint of his old brashness. “When I’m shogun, if you’re still around, I’ll give you a nice position in my regime.” He bowed and departed.

Sano bid the dead shogun a silent, grateful farewell, then went to join his retinue. He had another meeting that promised to be less friendly than this one.

* * *

Taeko stood, her face puffy and tear-stained, on the veranda of the guest quarters of the Mori estate. She’d come outside for a respite from trying to comfort her brother and sister while her mother and the servants prepared her father’s body for the funeral. In the garden where she and Masahiro had quarreled, patterns of sunlight and cloud shadow moved across the muddy snow. She looked at the opposite wing of the house and thought of Kikuko dead and all the blood. She’d wished Masahiro’s wife would die, and she felt as guilty as if she herself had cut Kikuko’s throat.

Masahiro came out of the house and stood beside her. Taeko felt even guiltier. She still loved him and wanted him so much that his very presence made her tremble. After everything that had happened, she was still hurt by his betrayal and terrified of what would become of her. What a selfish person she was!

“Can I talk to you?” Masahiro sounded uncertain and nervous.

She couldn’t look at him, didn’t deserve to have him with her. Afraid of what he would say, she nodded.

“I’m sorry about your father.”

Fresh tears of grief, shame, and guilt burned down Taeko’s chilled face. She was worrying about her troubles when her father had sacrificed his life! She knew what courtesy required her to say to Masahiro. She swallowed hard. “I’m sorry about your wife.”

But it was only half true. She was sorry that Kikuko had died in such a horrible way, murdered by her mother, but she wasn’t sorry Kikuko was dead.

“So am I,” Masahiro said with a sigh. Taeko stole a glance at him, to see whether he was heartbroken. But he only looked exhausted. “This probably isn’t a good time … so soon after … but…” He drummed his fingers on the veranda railing and said gruffly, “I want to explain why I … the other night … well, you know.”

Taeko gripped her arms under her sleeves, pressing them against the baby, as the memory of him and Kikuko sickened her stomach.

“I didn’t mean to,” Masahiro said, “but she was the most beautiful girl I’d ever seen. And she somehow knew the things I wanted. It was so … exciting, we did it three times, all different ways. I couldn’t help myself.”

The news that he’d betrayed her not once but three times, and the awe in his tone, were like stabs to Taeko’s heart, and he didn’t seem aware that he was hurting her. It was her punishment for wanting Kikuko to die.

“But I didn’t love her. I don’t think I ever could have. Because it’s you I love.”

The passion in his voice astonished Taeko. She turned to gape at him. He seized her hands and said, “Please tell me you don’t really hate me! Please take me back!”

It didn’t matter that he only thought he couldn’t have loved Kikuko; it didn’t matter that her death might be the only reason he wanted to be with Taeko again. Taeko pressed his hands to her face and sobbed, wracked by joy and guilt. Masahiro sniffled as they clung to each other. He stepped back to look at Taeko. His cheeks were wet from their tears. “Will you marry me?”

She was so unworthy of this good fortune. If he only knew about her evil thoughts toward his wife! She had to confess.

He misinterpreted her hesitation. “Oh, you’re worried about our parents. But I’ll stand up to them this time. I want to be with you, and our baby.”

“But-”

“I know, you’re not sure you should trust me.” He drew a deep breath, let it out, and said, “I’m not going to make any more promises I can’t keep. If somebody else like Kikuko comes along … well, I’m as weak and selfish as you said. All I can say is, if you marry me, I’ll try to be better.” Impatient, he said, “Will you?”

Taeko was impressed by his honesty, thrilled by the prospect of being his wife and their baby having a father. “Yes,” she whispered. She could live with knowing that Masahiro might hurt her again someday. She would probably hurt him again. They would make up. She would remember Kikuko, and she would try to be better, too.

Masahiro laughed, hugged her, lifted her off her feet, and spun her around until she laughed with him. “As soon as my father comes back, we’ll tell everybody.”

* * *

Sano left his retinue in the courtyard of an inn located down the street from the Shark Teahouse. He climbed the stairs to the balcony and knocked on a door. Yoshisato opened it. He wore plain cotton garments and a somber, aloof expression. The sight of him gave Sano a shock. Despite his tattoos, Sano could see Yanagisawa in him more clearly than ever. It was as if Yoshisato had absorbed some of Yanagisawa’s persona.

“Come in,” Yoshisato said.

Sano recalled Yanagisawa’s last words to him: This isn’t over. We’ll meet again someday. Next time I’ll win. Maybe they didn’t need to meet again in order for Sano to get his comeuppance. It was a son’s duty to avenge his father’s death. But Yoshisato gave no hint of aggression. Sano entered the room, which was small, sparsely furnished with a bedroll and a charcoal brazier on the tatami floor, but clean. He heard someone moving around in the chamber on the other side of the wooden partition. Yoshisato faced Sano and waited.