The Harsh Cry of the Heron (38 page)

The language was
difficult: everything about it seemed to be back to front, and it was hard to
remember the masculine and feminine forms and the way the verbs changed.

One day when she was
feeling particularly discouraged she said to Madaren, ‘I will never master it.
I don’t know how you managed it.’ It was particularly galling that Madaren, a
woman of low birth and no education, should have become so fluent.

‘Well, I learned
under circumstances that are not an option for Lady Otori,’ Madaren said. Once
she had got over her shyness, her natural, life-hardened, practical self began
to emerge. Their conversation became more relaxed, especially if Shizuka was
present, as she usually was. ‘I made Don Joao teach me in bed.’

Kaede laughed. ‘I don’t
think my husband had that sort of thing in mind.’

‘Don Carlo is free,’
Shizuka said teasingly. ‘Maybe I should try language lessons. Would you
recommend the foreigners’ techniques, Madaren? You hear such gossip about their
parts; I would like to find out the truth for myself.’

‘Don Carlo does not
care for that sort of thing,’ Madaren said. ‘He does not seem to desire women -
or men, for that matter. In fact he disapproves strongly. In his eyes, the act
of love is what he calls a sin - and love between men particularly shocking.’

It was a concept that
neither Shizuka nor Kaede could quite understand.

‘Maybe when I know
more of his language, Don Carlo will explain it,’ Kaede said, joking.

‘Don’t ever speak of
such things to him,’ Madaren begged. ‘It will embarrass him beyond belief.’

‘Is it something to
do with his religion?’ Kaede said, somewhat hesitantly.

‘It must be. He
spends a great deal of time in prayer, and often reads aloud from his holy
books on attaining purity and controlling the desires of the body.’

‘Does not Don Joao
believe the same things?’ Shizuka asked.

‘Part of him does,
but his desires are stronger. He satisfies himself, and then hates himself for
it.’

Kaede wondered if
this strange behaviour extended to Madaren herself, but did not like to ask her
directly, just as she did not want to question her about her beliefs, though
she was curious to know how similar they were to the foreigners’. She observed
the young woman closely when the two men were present, and thought that they
did indeed despise her, though both needed her skills and depended on her, and
one lusted after her body. She thought the relationship strange and distorted,
with manipulation, even exploitation, on both sides. She found herself curious
about Madaren’s past, what strange journey had brought her to this place. Often
when they were alone together she was on the verge of asking her what her
memories were, and what Takeo was like as a child. But the intimacy such
questions would presuppose was too threatening.

Winter drew in. The
eleventh month brought heavy frosts; despite the padded clothes and braziers it
was hard to stay warm. Kaede no longer dared take exercise with Shizuka: the
memory of her miscarriage was always with her, and she dreaded losing this
child. Wrapped in fur rugs, she had little to do but study and talk to Madaren.

Just before the moon
of the eleventh month letters came from Yamagata. She and Madaren were alone;
Shizuka had taken the boys to see the kirin. She murmured her apologies for
interrupting the lesson and went at once to her own study - the room where Ichiro
used to read and write - and read the letters there. Takeo wrote at length - or
rather he had dictated, for she knew Minoru’s hand - informing her of all the
decisions that had been made. There were still many preparations to discuss
with Kahei and Gemba about the visit to the capital: he was waiting for news
from Sonoda about the reception of the messengers. He felt obliged to spend the
New Year there.

Kaede was severely
disappointed: she had hoped Takeo would have returned before the snows closed
the mountain passes. Now she was afraid he would be delayed until the thaw.
When she went back to Madaren she was distracted, and felt even her memory was
failing her.

‘I hope Lady Otori
has not had bad news from Yamagata?’ Madaren inquired when Kaede made her third
elementary mistake.

‘Not really. I had
hoped my husband would return sooner, that is all.’

‘Lord Otori is well?’

‘He seems in good
health, thank Heaven.’ Kaede paused and then said abruptly, ‘What did you call
him, when you were children?’

‘Tomasu, lady’

‘Tomasu? It sounds so
strange. What does it mean?’

‘It is the name of
one of the great teachers of the Hidden.’

‘And Madaren?’

‘Madaren was a woman
who, they say, loved the son of God when he walked on earth.’

‘Did the son of God
love her?’ Kaede said, remembering their former conversation.

‘He loves us all,’
Madaren replied with great seriousness.

Kaede’s interest at
that moment was not in the strange beliefs of the Hidden, but in her husband,
who had grown up among them.

‘I don’t suppose you
remember much about him. You must have been still a child.’

‘He was always
different,’ Madaren said slowly. ‘That’s what I remember most. He didn’t look
the same as the rest of us, and he didn’t seem to think in the same way. My
father was often angry with him; our mother would pretend to be angry, but she
adored him. I was always running after him, pestering him. I wanted him to
notice me. I think that’s why I noticed him when I saw him in Hofu. I dreamed
about him constantly. I pray for him all the time.’

She fell silent, as
if she feared she had said too much. Kaede herself was slightly shocked, though
she could not quite explain to herself why.

‘We had better resume
our studies,’ she said in a cooler voice.

‘Of course, lady,’
Madaren agreed submissively.

That night there was
a heavy snow, the first of the year. Kaede woke in the morning to the
unfamiliar white light, and almost wept. For it meant the passes would indeed
be closed, and Takeo would stay in Yamagata until spring.

Kaede was interested
in the foreigners, and the more she learned of their language the more she
realized she needed to know what they believed in, in order to understand them.
Don Carlo seemed equally eager to understand her, and when the snow fell, preventing
him from going into the fields to conduct his research, he came more frequently
with Madaren and their conversations became more involved.

‘He watches me in a
way that in normal men would be desire,’ she remarked to Shizuka.

‘Maybe he should be
warned about your reputation!’ Shizuka replied. ‘At one time that desire meant
death to any man!’

‘I have been married
for sixteen years, Shizuka! I hope that reputation has been laid to rest by
now. Anyway, it is not desire, for we know Don Carlo does not feel such natural
urges.’

‘We know nothing of
the sort! We only know he does not act on them,’ Shizuka pointed out. ‘But if
you want to hear my opinion: I think he is hoping to win you over to his
religion. He does not desire your body; he desires your soul. He has started
talking about Deus, has he not? And explaining the religion of his country?’

‘How strange,’ Kaede
said. ‘What difference can it make to him what I believe?’

‘Mai, the girl we
sent to work for them, says Lady Otori’s name is often introduced into
conversation between them. Mai’s grasp of their language is not perfect yet,
but she feels they hope to win trade and believers, in equal measure, and
eventually to gain new land for themselves. This is what they do all over the
world.’

‘From what they say,
their own country lies a huge distance away: a year or more of sailing,’ Kaede
said. ‘How can they bear to live so far from home for so long?’

‘Fumio says it is a
characteristic of all such merchants and adventurers. It makes them very
powerful, and dangerous.’

‘Well, I cannot
imagine adopting their strange beliefs.’

Kaede dismissed the
idea with scorn. ‘It seems like nonsense to me!’

‘All beliefs can seem
like madness,’ Shizuka said. ‘But they can seize people suddenly, almost like
the plague. I have seen it happen. Be on your guard.’

Shizuka’s words made
Kaede remember the time when she was Lord Fujiwara’s wife, and how she had
passed the long days in a mixture of prayer and poetry, holding all the while
to the promise the goddess had made to her while she lay in the deep Kikuta
sleep as though encased in ice. Be patient: he will come for you.

She felt the child
kick within her. Now all her patience was strained to its limit by the
pregnancy, the snow, Takeo’s absence.

‘Ah, my back aches,’
she sighed.

‘Let me massage it.
Lean forward.’ As Shizuka’s hands worked on Kaede’s muscles and spine, she said
nothing, and the silence grew more intense as though she had fallen into a kind
of reverie.

‘What are you
thinking about?’ Kaede questioned.

‘Ghosts from the
past. I often used to sit with Lord Shigeru in this very room. Several times I
brought messages from Lady Maruyama: she was a believer, you know.’

‘In the teachings of
the Hidden,’ Kaede said. ‘I feel the foreigners’ religion, while it seems to be
the same, is more dogmatic and intransigent.’

‘All the more reason
to treat it with suspicion!’

Throughout the
winter, Don Carlo introduced her to more words: Hell, punishment, damnation,
and she remembered what Takeo had said about the all-seeing God of the Hidden
and the mercilessness of his gaze. She realized how Takeo had chosen to ignore
that gaze, and it made her admire and love him all the more.

For surely the gods
were good, and wanted life to continue for all beings in harmony, the seasons
passing, night following day and summer winter, and, as the Enlightened One
himself taught, death itself no more than a pause before the next birth . . .

This she tried to
explain with her limited vocabulary to Don Carlo, and when words failed took
him to look at the finished carving of the all-merciful Kannon in the shrine
that had been built for her.

It was a sudden mild
day in early spring. The plum blossom still hung like tiny flakes of snow to
the bare branches in Akane’s garden; the snow underfoot was moist and melting.
Despite her dislike of the conveyance, Kaede was carried in the palanquin; she
was in the seventh month of pregnancy and was slowed by the weight of the
child. Don Carlo rode in a separate one behind her, and Madaren followed him.

The carpenters, under
Taro’s leadership, were putting the finishing touches to the shrine, taking
advantage of the warmer weather. Kaede was pleased to see that the new building
had stood up to the winter well, sheltered by its double roof, the two curves
perfectly balanced as Taro had promised they would be, their upward thrust
reflected by the protective umbrella of the pines. Snow still lay on the roof,
dazzling against the blue sky; melting icicles dripped from the eaves,
refracting the light.

The transoms over the
side doors were shaped like leaves, and delicate tracery let light into the
building. The main door stood open, and the winter sun fell in splashes on the
new floor. The wood was the colour of honey and smelled as sweet.

Kaede greeted Taro,
and stepped out of her sandals onto the veranda.

‘The foreigner is
interested in your work,’ she told Taro, and looked behind her to where Don
Carlo and Madaren were approaching the shrine building.

‘Welcome,’ she said
to the priest in his language. ‘This is a special place for me. It is new. This
man made it.’

Taro bowed, and Don
Carlo made an awkward gesture with his head. He looked more than usually
uncomfortable, and when Kaede said, ‘Come inside. You must see this man’s most
beautiful work,’ he shook his head and replied, T will look from here.’

‘You cannot see,’ she
persisted, but Madaren whispered, ‘He will not go in; it is against his
beliefs.’

Kaede felt a flash of
anger at his rudeness, not comprehending at all the reasons behind it, but she
was not going to give in so easily. She had listened to him all winter, and had
learned much from him. Now he was going to listen to her.

‘Please,’ she said. ‘Do
as I tell you.’

‘It will be
interesting,’ Madaren encouraged him. ‘You will see how the building is
constructed and how the wood is carved.’

He pulled off his
footwear with a show of reluctance, Taro helping him with encouraging smiles.
Kaede stepped inside the shrine; the finished statue stood before them. One
hand, against her breast, held a lotus flower; the other lifted up the hem of
her robe with two slender fingers. The folds of the robe were carved with such
exquisite skill they almost seemed to sway in the breeze. The goddess’s eyes
looked downwards, her expression both stern and compassionate, her mouth
archaic in its smile.

Kaede put her hands
together and bowed her head in prayer - for her unborn child, for her husband
and daughters, and for Akane’s spirit, that it might finally find rest.