The Miko - 02
Authors: Eric Van Lustbader
A Nicholas Linnear Novel
Eric Van Lustbader
FOR VICTORIA
with love…in all kinds of weather
FOR MY FATHER
with love to the human encyclopedia
Nara Prefecture, Japan. Spring, Present
New York / Tokyo / Hokkaido. Spring, Present
Marianas Islands, North Pacific Ocean. Spring, 1944
Washington / New York / Tokyo / Key West. Spring, Present
Kyoto / Tokyo. Spring 1945-Autumn 1952
New York / Tokyo / Key West / Oshino. Spring, Present
Tokyo. Autumn 194?-Autumn 1963
Hong Kong / Washington / Tokyo / Maui / Raleigh / Hokkaido. Spring, Present
Kumamoto / Asama Kogen / Switzerland. Autumn-Winter 1963-Spring 198?
New York City / Hong Kong / Hokkaido / Maui / Washington / Tokyo. Spring, Present
Tokyo Suburbs, Spring, Present
Tsugi-no ma-no tomoshi
mo kiete
yo-samu kana
The next room’s light
that too goes out, and now—
the chill of night
—Shiki (1867-1902)
SPRING, PRESENT
M
ASASHIGI KUSUNOKI, THE
sensei
of this
dōjō
, was making tea. He knelt on the reed
tatami
; his kimono, light gray on dark gray, swirled around him as if he were the eye of a great dark whirlpool.
He poured steaming hot water into an earthen cup and, as he took up the reed whisk to make the pale green froth, the form of Tsutsumu shadowed the open doorway. Beyond his bent body, the polished wooden floor on the
dōjō
stretched away, gleaming and perfect.
Kusunoki had his back to the doorway. He faced the edge of the
shōji
screen and the large window through which could be seen the cherry trees in full blossom, clouds come to walk the earth, marching up the densely wooded slopes of Yoshino, their oblique branches as green as the hills beyond, covered with ancient moss. The scent of cedar was very strong now, as it almost always was in this section of Nara prefecture, save during those few weeks of winter when the snow lay heavy through the ridges and rises of the terrain.
Kusunoki never tired of that view. It was steeped in the history of Japan. It was here that Minamoto no Yoshitsune sought the shelter of these fortresslike mountains in order to defeat the treachery of the Shōgun, his brother; it was here that the great doomed Emperor Go-Daigo assembled his troops and ended his exile, beginning his attempt to return to the throne; here, too, where Shugendo developed, the way of mountain ascetics, a peculiar fusion of Buddhism and Shinto. Mount Omine was out there and on its slopes congregated the
yamabushi
, the wandering, self-mortifying adherents of this syncretic religion.
He looked now at the tea, its color lightening as the spume rose, and he saw all there was to see beyond that thin pane of glass.
Behind him, Tsutsumu was about to announce himself softly but, seeing the
sensei
kneeling, unaware, froze his tongue. For a long time he contemplated the figure on the
tatami,
and as he did so his muscles began to lose their relaxedness. He had been alert; now he was ready. His mind sought the many pathways toward victory while his eyes drank in the utter stillness in the other. The hands must be moving, Tsutsumu told himself, because I know he is preparing the tea…yet he might as well be a statue for all I can see of it.
He knew the time to be right and, unbidden, he rose, unfurling himself like a sail before the wind. Taking two swift, silent strides, he crossed the threshold and was within striking distance. His body torqued with the first onset of intrinsic energy.
At that instant, Kusunoki turned and, extending the hot cup of tea, said, “It is always an honor to invite a pupil so quick to learn into my study.”
His eyes locked onto Tsutsumu, and the student felt as if he had hit against an invisible, impenetrable wall. All the fire of the energy he had banked for so long, now at last turned loose, was stifled, held momentarily in thrall, then dissipated.
Tsutsumu shivered involuntarily. He blinked as an owl might in daylight. He felt intensely vulnerable without that which had always been his.
The
sensei
was smiling pleasantly. “Come,” he said, and Tsutsumu saw that another cup of tea had somehow materialized. “Let us drink together…to show respect and our mutual good intentions.”
The student smiled awkwardly and, shakily, sat on the
tatami
facing Kusunoki. Between them was a break in the reed mats that was far more than an architectural or an esthetic delineation. It was the space between host and guest, always observed.
Tsutsumu took the cup and, holding it carefully and correctly in both hands, prepared to drink. The warmth of the tea rushed into his palms. He bowed to his
sensei
, touched the curved rim of the cup to his lips, and drank the intensely bitter beverage. It was very good, and he closed his eyes for an instant, forgetting where he was and, even, who he was, to the extent that that was possible. He tasted the earth of Japan and with it all things Japanese. History and legend, honor and courage, the weight of
kami
, hovering. And, above all, duty.
Giri.
Then his eyes opened and all was as it had been before. He felt again the uncomfortableness of being so far from home. He was from the north and Nara was an alien place to him; he had never liked it here. Yet he had come and had stayed for two long years.
Giri.
“Tell me,” Kusunoki said, “what is the first thing we assess in combat?”
“Our opponent,” Tsutsumu said immediately. “The exchange of attitude and intention tells us where we are and how we are to proceed.”
“Indeed,” Kusunoki said, as if this were a new concept to him and he was mulling it over in his mind. “So we think of victory.”
“No,” the student said. “We concern ourselves with not being defeated.”
The
sensei
looked at him with his hard black eyes that seemed ripped from a hawk’s fierce face. “Good,” he said at last. “Very good, indeed.”
Tsutsumu, sipping his tea slowly, wondered what this was all about. Words and more words. The
sensei
was asking him questions to which any good pupil must know the answers. Be careful, he cautioned himself, remembering the instantaneous dissolution of his attacking force. Be on guard.
“So here we equate defeat with the end of life.”
The student nodded. “In hand-to-hand we are on the death ground, as Sun Tzu has written. We must fight, always.”
Now Kusunoki allowed a full smile. “But Sun Tzu has also written, ‘To subdue the enemy
without
fighting shows the highest level of skill. Thus, what is supreme is to attack the enemy’s strategy.’”
“Pardon me,
sensei
, but it seems to me Sun Tzu was speaking solely about war in that instance.”
“Well,” Kusunoki said evenly, “isn’t that what we are also talking about?”
Tsutsumu felt his heart skip a beat and it was with a great personal effort that he kept himself calm. “War? Forgive me,
sensei
, but I do not understand.”
Kusunoki’s face was benign as he thought, And Sun Tzu also wrote that those skilled in war can make themselves invincible but cannot cause an enemy to be vulnerable. “There are many faces war may take on, many guises. Is this not so?”
“It is,
sensei
,” Tsutsumu said, his pulse in his throat.
“We can ask, what war can be made here”—his arm drifted through the air like a cloud, describing an arc toward the wonder and peace of the wooded hillsides visible through the window—“in Yoshino where the history of Japan lives, and thrives. One might think war an outmoded concept here among the cherry trees and the cedars.”
His great black eyes fixed on Tsutsumu, and the pupil felt a muscle along his inner thigh begin to tremble. “Yet war has come to this indomitable fortress of nature. And thus it must be dealt with.”
Now Tsutsumu was truly terrified. This was no ordinary invitation to sit at the
sensei
’s feet and sip tea while speaking of mundane matters, the substance of daily lessons.
“There is a traitor here in Yoshino,” Kusunoki said.
“What?”
“Yes, it is true.” Kusunoki nodded his head sadly. “You are the first I have spoken to about it. I observe you in class. You are quick, quick and intelligent. Now you will work with me on this matter. You will spy for me among the students. You will begin now. Have you observed anything out of the ordinary that might help us in identifying the spy?”
Tsutsumu thought furiously. He was not unaware of the amazing opportunity being afforded him and was immensely grateful for it. He felt as if a great weight had been taken off his chest. Now he must make the most of this opening. “I seem to remember,” he began. “Yes, yes. There is something. The
woman
,”—he used a most unflattering inflection—“has been seen here late into the evening hours.”
“What has she been doing?” There was no need to name her. The
dōjō
contained only one woman—a choice of the
sensei
that was not popular with his pupils though none dared voice their displeasure where he could hear. Nevertheless, he knew about it.
Tsutsumu shrugged. “Who knows,
sensei
? Certainly she was not practicing.”
“I see.” Kusunoki seemed engulfed in thought.
Tsutsumu sought to press his advantage. “Of course there has been much talk lately concerning her; a great deal of talk.”
“She is not liked.”
“No,
sensei
,” Tsutsumu confirmed, “most of the students do not feel she has a place here within the sanctity of the
dōjō.
It goes against tradition, they feel. This kind of…ah…training should not be open to a woman, they believe.” The student bowed his head as if reluctant to go on. “Forgive me,
sensei
, but there has even been some talk that her presence here was the reason that you left your high position within the Gyokku
ryu.
They say she came to you there, that on her behalf you went to the council
oijonin
and sought their vote for her entry into the
ryu.
They say it is because you could not muster enough votes within your own council that you left.” His head raised. “All because of her.”
Invincibility lies in the defense, Kusunoki thought. The possibility of victory is attack. To his pupil, he said, “It is true that I was once
jonin
in the Gyokku
ryu
; that much is common knowledge. But the reasons for my departure are my own; no one else knows them, not even the other members of the council. My great-great-grandfather was one of the founders of Gyokku; it took much thought on my part to make the decision. It took much time.”
“I understand,
sensei
,” Tsutsumu said, thinking that what he had just been told was an utter lie. He was certain within his own heart that Kusunoki had, indeed, jeopardized his entire career for this one woman. Inexplicably.
“Good.” Kusunoki nodded. “I thought you might.” The black eyes closed for a moment, and the student breathed an inaudible sigh of relief. He felt a trickle of sweat creeping like an insect down the indentation of his spine and he struggled to keep his body still. “Perhaps I have been wrong about her, after all,” the
sensei
said. With a great deal of elation, Tsutsumu recognized the sadness in the other’s voice. “If what you have gleaned is indeed the truth, then we must deal with her swiftly and ruthlessly.”
Tsutsumu’s head swung around at the mention of the word
we.
“Yes,
sensei
,” he said, thinking, Softly, softly now, knowing he was moving in, trying to keep his jubilation in check. “Any way I may serve you is an honor. That is why I first came here, and I have not wavered in that resolve.”