Shōgun полностью

“Please tell him . . . perhaps I’d better try. Taicho-san! Okashira, sukoshi no aida watakushi wa ikitai no desu. Watakushi no fune ga asoko ni arimasu.” Captain, I want to go there now for a little while. My ship’s there.

“Iyé, Anjin-san, gomen nasai. Ima . . .”

Mariko had listened approvingly and with amusement as Blackthorne had argued courteously and insisted firmly, and then, reluctantly, Yoshinaka had allowed them to detour, but just for a moment, neh? and only because the Anjin-san claimed hatamoto status, which gave certain inalienable rights, and had pointed out that a quick examination was important to Lord Toranaga, that it would certainly save their lord’s immensely valuable time and was vital to his meeting tonight. Yes, the Anjin-san may look for a moment, but so sorry, it is of course forbidden to go on the ship without papers signed personally by Lord Toranaga, and it must only be for a moment because we are expected, so sorry.

“Domo, Taicho-san,” Blackthorne had said expansively, more than a little pleased with his increased understanding of the correct ways to persuade and his growing command of the language.

Last night and most of yesterday they had spent at an inn barely two ri southward down the road, Yoshinaka allowing them to dawdle as before.

Oh, that was such a lovely night, she thought.

There had been so many lovely days and nights. All perfect except the first day after leaving Mishima, when Father Tsukku-san caught up with them again and the precarious truce between the two men was ripped asunder. Their quarrel had been sudden, vicious, fueled by the Rodrigues incident and too much brandy. Threat and counterthreat and curses and then Father Alvito had spurred on ahead for Yedo, leaving disaster in his wake, the joy of the journey ruined.

“We must not let this happen, Anjin-san.”

“But that man had no right—”

“Oh yes, I agree. And of course you’re correct. But please, if you let this incident destroy your harmony, you will be lost and so will I. Please, I implore you to be Japanese. Put this incident away—that’s all it is, one incident in ten thousand. You must not allow it to wreck your harmony. Put it away into a compartment.”

“How? How can I do that? Look at my hands! I’m so God-cursed angry I can’t stop them shaking!”

“Look at this rock, Anjin-san. Listen to it growing.”

“What?”

“Listen to the rock grow, Anjin-san. Put your mind on that, on the harmony of the rock. Listen to the kami of the rock. Listen, my love, for thy life’s sake. And for mine.”

So he had tried and had succeeded just a little and the next day, friends again, lovers again, at peace again, she continued to teach, trying to mold him—without his knowing he was being molded—to the Eightfold Fence, building inner walls and defenses that were his only path to harmony. And to survival.

“I’m so glad the priest has gone and won’t come back, Anjin-san.”

“Yes.”

“It would have been better if there had been no quarrel. I’m afraid for you.”

“Nothing’s different—he always was my enemy, always will be. Karma is karma. But don’t forget nothing exists outside us. Not yet. Not him or anyone. Not until Yedo. Neh?”

“Yes. You are so wise. And right again. I’m so happy to be with thee. . . .”

Their road from Mishima left the flat lands quickly and wound up the mountain to Hakoné Pass. They rested there two days atop the mountain, joyous and content, Mount Fuji glorious at sunrise and sunset, her peak obscured by a wreath of clouds.

“Is the mountain always like that?”

“Yes, Anjin-san, most always shrouded. But that makes the sight of Fuji-san, clear and clean, so much more exquisite, neh? You can climb all the way to the top if you wish.”

“Let’s do that now!”

“Not now, Anjin-san. One day we will. We must leave something to the future, neh? We’ll climb Fuji-san in autumn. . . .”

Always there were pretty, private inns down to the Kwanto plains. And always rivers and streams and rivulets to cross, the sea on the right now. Their party had meandered northward along the busy, bustling Tokaidō, across the greatest rice bowl in the Empire. The flat alluvial plains were rich with water, every inch cultivated. The air was hot and humid now, heavy with the stench of human manure that the farmers moistened with water and ladled onto the plants with loving care.

“Rice gives us food to eat, Anjin-san, tatamis to sleep on, sandals to walk with, clothes to shut out the rain and the cold, thatch to keep our houses warm, paper for writing. Without rice we cannot exist.”

“But the stink, Mariko-san!”