“Anyway, I
think you know I am impressed by you.”
He was less guarded today, more open in his feeling toward her.
She was acutely aware of his desire and, once she had pitied him, less able to
resist it. As Arai’s mistress or as Kaede’s maid, she had had status and the
protection status gave her, but now nothing was left to her apart from her own
skills and this man who had saved her life and would not make a bad husband.
There was no reason not to sleep with him, so after they stopped to eat, around
noon, she let him lead her into the shade of the trees. The smell of pine
needles and cedar was all around them, the sun warm, the breeze soft. A distant
waterfall splashed, muted. Everything spoke of new life and spring. His
lovemaking was not as bad as she’d feared, though he was rough and quick
compared to Ishida.
Shizuka thought,
If this is what is to be, I must make
the best of it
. And then she thought,
What’s
happened to me? Have I suddenly got old? A year ago I would have given a man
like Kondo short shrift, but a year ago I still thought I was Arai’s. And so
much has happened since then, so much intrigue, so many deaths: losing Shigeru
and Naomi, pretending all the time I did not care; barely able to weep, not
even when the father of my children tried to have me murdered, not even when I
thought Kaede would die
…
It was not the first time that she had felt sickened by the
constant pretense, the ruthlessness, the brutality. She thought of Shigeru and
his desire for peace and justice, and of Ishida, who sought to heal, not to kill,
and felt her heart twist with more pain than she would
have thought possible.
I am old
, she
thought.
Next year I will
turn thirty.
Her eyes went hot and she realized she was about to weep. The
tears trickled down her face, and Kondo, mistaking them, held her more closely.
Her tears lay wet between her cheek and his chest, forming a pool on the
vermilion and sepia pictures that were tattooed on his body.
After a while she stood up and went to the waterfall. Dipping a
cloth into the icy water, she washed her face, then cupped her hands to drink.
The forest around her was silent apart from the croaking of spring frogs and
the first tentative cicadas. The air was already cooling. They must hasten if
they were to reach the village before nightfall.
Kondo had already picked up their bundles and slung them onto the
pole. Now he lifted it to his shoulder.
“You know,” he said as they walked on, raising his voice so she
could hear him, for she, knowing the path, was in front, “I don’t believe you
would hurtTakeo. I don’t think it would be possible for you to kill him.“
“Why not?” she said, turning her head. “I’ve killed men before!”
“I know your
reputation, Shizuka! But when you speak of Takeo, your face softens as if you
pity him. And I don’t believe you would ever bring grief to Lady Shirakawa
because of the strength of your affection for her.“
“You see everything! You know everything about me! Are you sure
you’re not a fox spirit?” She wondered if he had discerned her affair with
Ishida and prayed he would not speak of it. “I have Tribe blood in my veins
too,” he returned. “If I am far from Takeo, I will not be torn two ways,” she
said. “The same goes for you.” She walked on for a while in silence and then
spoke abruptly. “I suppose I do pity him.”
“Yet, people say you are ruthless.” His voice had recovered its
hint of mockery.
“I can still be moved by suffering. Not the sort people bring on
themselves through their own stupidity, but the suffering that is inflicted by
fate.”
The slope steepened and she felt her breath catch. She did not
speak until it lessened again, but she was thinking of the threads that bound
her life with Takeo and Kaede, and with the destiny of the Otori.
There was room on the path now for two, and Kondo came up
alongside her.
“Takeo’s upbringing among the Hidden, his adoption into
think you know I am impressed by you.”
He was less guarded today, more open in his feeling toward her.
She was acutely aware of his desire and, once she had pitied him, less able to
resist it. As Arai’s mistress or as Kaede’s maid, she had had status and the
protection status gave her, but now nothing was left to her apart from her own
skills and this man who had saved her life and would not make a bad husband.
There was no reason not to sleep with him, so after they stopped to eat, around
noon, she let him lead her into the shade of the trees. The smell of pine
needles and cedar was all around them, the sun warm, the breeze soft. A distant
waterfall splashed, muted. Everything spoke of new life and spring. His
lovemaking was not as bad as she’d feared, though he was rough and quick
compared to Ishida.
Shizuka thought,
If this is what is to be, I must make
the best of it
. And then she thought,
What’s
happened to me? Have I suddenly got old? A year ago I would have given a man
like Kondo short shrift, but a year ago I still thought I was Arai’s. And so
much has happened since then, so much intrigue, so many deaths: losing Shigeru
and Naomi, pretending all the time I did not care; barely able to weep, not
even when the father of my children tried to have me murdered, not even when I
thought Kaede would die
…
It was not the first time that she had felt sickened by the
constant pretense, the ruthlessness, the brutality. She thought of Shigeru and
his desire for peace and justice, and of Ishida, who sought to heal, not to kill,
and felt her heart twist with more pain than she would
have thought possible.
I am old
, she
thought.
Next year I will
turn thirty.
Her eyes went hot and she realized she was about to weep. The
tears trickled down her face, and Kondo, mistaking them, held her more closely.
Her tears lay wet between her cheek and his chest, forming a pool on the
vermilion and sepia pictures that were tattooed on his body.
After a while she stood up and went to the waterfall. Dipping a
cloth into the icy water, she washed her face, then cupped her hands to drink.
The forest around her was silent apart from the croaking of spring frogs and
the first tentative cicadas. The air was already cooling. They must hasten if
they were to reach the village before nightfall.
Kondo had already picked up their bundles and slung them onto the
pole. Now he lifted it to his shoulder.
“You know,” he said as they walked on, raising his voice so she
could hear him, for she, knowing the path, was in front, “I don’t believe you
would hurtTakeo. I don’t think it would be possible for you to kill him.“
“Why not?” she said, turning her head. “I’ve killed men before!”
“I know your
reputation, Shizuka! But when you speak of Takeo, your face softens as if you
pity him. And I don’t believe you would ever bring grief to Lady Shirakawa
because of the strength of your affection for her.“
“You see everything! You know everything about me! Are you sure
you’re not a fox spirit?” She wondered if he had discerned her affair with
Ishida and prayed he would not speak of it. “I have Tribe blood in my veins
too,” he returned. “If I am far from Takeo, I will not be torn two ways,” she
said. “The same goes for you.” She walked on for a while in silence and then
spoke abruptly. “I suppose I do pity him.”
“Yet, people say you are ruthless.” His voice had recovered its
hint of mockery.
“I can still be moved by suffering. Not the sort people bring on
themselves through their own stupidity, but the suffering that is inflicted by
fate.”
The slope steepened and she felt her breath catch. She did not
speak until it lessened again, but she was thinking of the threads that bound
her life with Takeo and Kaede, and with the destiny of the Otori.
There was room on the path now for two, and Kondo came up
alongside her.
“Takeo’s upbringing among the Hidden, his adoption into
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