Shōgun полностью

With signs and simple words and much patience, Omi explained that his servants had managed to douse the fires in time. Within a day or two, he told Blackthorne, the house would be up again, as good as it was, so not to worry. Yours will take longer, a week, Anjin-san. Don’t worry, Fujiko-san is a fine manager. She’ll have all costs arranged with Mura in no time and your house’ll be better than ever. I hear she was burned? Well, this happens sometimes, but not to worry, our doctors are very expert with burns—they have to be, neh? Yes, Anjin-san, it was a bad quake, but not that bad. The rice fields were hardly touched and the so essential irrigation system was undamaged. And the boats weren’t damaged and that’s very important too. Only a hundred and fifty-four samurai were killed in the avalanche, that’s not many, neh? As to the village, a week and you’ll hardly know there was a quake. Five peasants were killed and a few children—nothing! Anjiro was very lucky, neh? I hear you pulled Toranaga-sama out of a death trap. We’re all grateful to you, Anjin-san. Very. If we’d lost him . . . Lord Toranaga said he accepted your sword—you’re lucky, that’s a great honor. Yes. Your karma’s strong, very good, very rich. Yes, we thank you very much. Listen, we’ll talk more after you’ve bathed. I’m glad to have you as a friend.

Omi called out for the bath attendants. “Isogi!” Hurry up!

The servants escorted Blackthorne to the bath house, which was set within a tiny maple grove and joined to the main house by a neat winding walk, usually roofed. The bath was much more luxurious than his own. One wall was cracked badly but villagers were already replastering it. The roof was sound although a few tiles were missing and rain leaked in here and there, but that did not matter.

Blackthorne stripped and sat on the tiny seat. The servants lathered him and shampooed him in the rain. When he was cleansed he went inside and immersed himself in the steaming bath. All his troubles melted away.

Fujiko’s going to be all right. I’m a lucky man—lucky I was there to pull Toranaga out, lucky to save Mariko, and lucky he was there to pull us out.

Suwo’s magic renewed him as usual. Later he let Suwo dress his bruises and cuts and put on the clean loincloth and kimono and tabi that had been left for him, and went out. The rain had stopped.

A temporary lean-to had been erected in one corner of the garden. It had a neat raised floor and was furnished with clean futons and a little vase with a flower arrangement. Omi was waiting for him and in attendance was a toothless, hard-faced old woman.

“Please sit down, Anjin-san,” Omi said.

“Thank you, and thanks for the clothes,” he replied in halting Japanese.

“Please don’t mention it. Would you like cha or saké?”

“Cha,” Blackthorne decided, thinking that he had better keep his head clear for his interview with Toranaga. “Thank you.”

“This is my mother,” Omi said formally, clearly idolizing her.

Blackthorne bowed. The old woman simpered and sucked in her breath.

“It’s my honor, Anjin-san,” she said.

“Thank you, but I’m honored.” Blackthorne repeated automatically the succession of formal politenesses that Mariko had taught him.

“Anjin-san, we were so sorry to see your house in flames.”

“What could one do? That’s karma, neh?”

“Yes, karma.” The old woman looked away and scowled. “Hurry up! The Anjin-san wants his cha warm!”

The girl standing beside the maid who carried the tray took Blackthorne’s breath away. Then he remembered her. Wasn’t this the girl he’d seen with Omi, the first time, when he was passing through the village square on his way to the galley?

“This is my wife,” Omi said tersely.

“I’m honored,” Blackthorne said as she took her place, knelt, and bowed.

“You must forgive her slowness,” Omi’s mother said. “Is the cha warm enough for you?”

“Thank you, it’s very good.” Blackthorne had noted that the old woman had not used the wife’s name as she should have. But then, he was not surprised because Mariko had told him already about the dominating position of a girl’s mother-in-law in Japanese society.

“Thank God it’s not the same in Europe,” he had told her.

“A wife’s mother-in-law can do no wrong—after all, Anjin-san, the parents choose the wife in the first place and what father would choose without first consulting his own wife? Of course, the daughter-in-law has to obey, and the son always does what his mother and father want.”

“Always?”

“Always.”

“What if the son refuses?”

“That’s not possible. Everyone has to obey the head of the house. A son’s first duty is to his parents. Of course. Sons are given everything by their mothers—life, food, tenderness, protection. She succors them all their lives. So of course it’s right that a son should heed his mother’s wishes. The daughter-in-law—she has to obey. That’s her duty.”

“It’s not the same with us.”

“It’s hard to be a good daughter-in-law, very hard. You just have to hope that you live long enough to have sons to become one yourself.”