WILL BUDDHA SPEAK?
Meanwhile affairs at Tsu were not prospering. Sampei, tossed like a
shuttlecock, formed, as usual, a dozen resolutions daily, and broke
them all. At one moment he was for the flight of O'Tei from the doomed
castle--become now a hell of untramelled debauchery--and her
installation with his mother at the temple. There she would be in
sanctuary, whence even her husband durst not wrest her. But then what
a triumph for O'Kiku! He felt that O'Tei would never consent to a step
which would be a tacit admission of defeat, for she was a Nara of pure
blood, with all the pride of her race. No. She must stop where she
was, and await the unrolling of events; and yet what a life was hers,
compelled to remain much in her bower, lest she should be insulted by
O'Kiku or the braves. As Nara hoped, the evil germ was working
inwardly. A regret rose within the mind of Sampei which scorched and
blackened it. Is a faithful clansman and an honest man ever justified
in turning on his chief? Before there was no question of it: now he
was in more than doubt. May a brother ever be pardoned for taking his
brother's life? Cases of fratricide were common enough, as Nara had
hinted--there were precedents galore--but then the ruling feature of
Sampei's character had always been loyal honesty. The gods in their
wisdom had set over him certain superiors. What would be said to him
when the end came, and accounts were totted up upon the abacus, if he
had rebelled? Buddha, frowning, would demand to know how he dared move
out of his place, arrogantly assuming to be the wiser.
His first duty was to the head of his house: surely there should be no
doubt whatever about that. But what if another urgent duty had been
imposed by his heart--an imperative duty, clashing with the first?
There lay the rub, a problem beyond the solving of the simple General.
And since the shocking suggestion had been spread by the wily geisha
that there were unholy bonds 'twixt him and her whom it was only too
plain he loved, the situation had become so strained as to fill him
with foreboding and dismay. To save her fair fame ought he indeed to
go? To leave her a helpless waif on this whirlpool of black wickedness
was out of the question. And yet how was she benefited by his staying,
since he dared not approach without compromising her? So miserable did
the poor man feel, racked and torn by a difficulty with which he was
incapable of coping, that the light was dark to him, his heart stone
cold. He knew himself as weak as she, a ball at the foot of Fate; and
so he wandered aimless and disconsolate, hearing and seeing nothing,
caring not what befell, waiting--as the rudderless do--to see what
would happen next.
Oh, heart of man, centre of suffering! When one is said to be
heartless, 'tis looked upon as a reproach, instead of a matter for
gratulation! The heart of man! 'Tis barely enough for a kite's dinner,
yet the whole world is not sufficiently large to satisfy its lust, its
greed, its ambition--and how it suffers!
When he sailed so blythely for Corea with his enthusiastic army, how
halcyon was the world to Sampei; what wonders he was going to perform;
what a career of ambition was before him. And now, ambition was dead.
Life had become Endurance. His candid spirit was warped by suspicion.
He, once so open and trustful, saw in everything a hidden meaning; in
every event an occult snare.
In due course the betto brought him the letter of his chief, and he
smiled with pitying derision. Was he to be taken in so easily? Had he
not seen the betto ride off with the missive of O'Kiku? Had he not
heard the woman herself urging the servant to speed? A puerile trick.
The letter had counselled the infatuated Daimio to remove his brother
from her path, that O'Tei, left unprotected and alone, might lie at
her mercy. What other reason could there be for so sudden a summons to
Ki[^y]oto? With disdain he tore the letter up, resolved more firmly
than ever to stick to his post, to carry out his mission to the end.
When my lord should return, there would be time enough for
explanations. They were burning to be rid of O'Tei--the guilty couple.
From this crowning sin, at least, Sampei would save his brother.
It required no little resolution unblenchingly to follow the straight
but rugged path. O'Kiku smarted more than ever under his cold and
implacable disdain. All her arts were useless. Maddened, she strove to
pique him by excesses of abandonment under his very nose, and was
convulsed by fits of corroding acrimony to discover how futile were
her efforts. Against all her attacks he was armed _cap-a-pie_. If my
lord would but return, that she might wreak envenomed spite upon these
two, whom now with her whole soul she hated! Meanwhile the only result
produced by her reckless behaviour was that the samurai, for the most
part, disapproved of her more and more; while Sampei, to shun the
sight of one so odious, devoted himself to excursions and the chase.
Away upon the hill, with its temple and solemn arcades of greenery, as
in the hum of the houses below, the cloud of anxiety was thickening.
The still dim shrine no longer lulled to devout prayer the soul of
Masago. In the midst of supplication her mind turned worldwards. She
yearned over her son and the tottering family. She grieved so for
O'Tei, when the chatelaine arrived for prayers, that her hard face
grew wondrous soft, and she marvelled at the stoniness of destiny.
Seeing now with clearer ken than in the past, when she had admired the
warlike Tomoye, adored her rude lord, had almost persuaded herself to
believe that all that he did was good, she began to have a denned
perception of his crimes, mingled with a startled regret. He had been
guilty of much that was deplorable. No-Kami had been brought up in his
father's school, had from the first gone lengths that were much more
regrettable, to end in deeds which she preferred not to contemplate.
He deserved to be accursed, and was accursed. Our sins, like sable
ravens, return to roost. Ever since the culminating crime, events had
moved so directly towards a visible goal that the finger of fate was
plain. But why Sampei? Why the fair and good O'Tei, a symbol of all
that was pure? These questions, so bewildering, would rise
persistently to the surface. Why should these two, mixed up in this
horror, without overt act of theirs, be marched as victims to the
sacrifice?
She had heard from Sampei that my lord had rallied suddenly before he
went to Ki[^y]oto, and this started a fresh train of thought.
O'Kiku, the baleful geisha, was at the bottom of all the trouble. She
had suddenly appeared, emissary of devils, on the fatal day, and
ever since had been a scourge. Thanks to an inspiration from above,
the Abbess had been the means of separating my lord from his
concubine. Oh, what if, Heaven relenting, the separation might become
final--No-Kami himself reformed? The soul of Masago gave a great leap.
Yes, she saw light at last--the light for which she had besought so
fervently. _She_ was to be the humble means of unravelling the tangle,
of saving the family honour.
But how was this to be accomplished? With trepidation she remembered
that she was in her sixty-first year, which, as all the world knows,
is the last of the yaku doshi, or evil years, after which a woman may
be at peace. During her thirty-third and forty-second (the other
yaku-doshi--happily passed) she had been very careful lest, tempted
by Ratatzu, she should be capable of something dreadful, that would
ruin her and hers. And now it was terrible to think that in this last
year of ordeal--the one of a long life which was most beset with
brambles--she was called upon to act with decision, to stand forth for
the succour of the innocent, for the shriving and salvation of the
guilty. This state of things would call for much vigil, much putting
off of earth-trammels, and adoration of the sun-god at his rising,
that her old eyes might clearly see.
The more she pondered--a slow, tall figure pacing among the moss-grown
tombs, under the stately criptomerias--the more plain her duty seemed.
Thanks to the benign deities, her prayers for light were answered, and
she saw. It was by Heaven's decree that the geisha had travelled
hitherward, an agent for the fulfilling of a purpose pre-ordained.
Buddha, with omniscient vision, had caused her to come to Tsu for the
accomplishment of the curse of the martyr. But now, through the
prayers and entreaties of his humble handmaid, he had relented,--been
turned from his intent. What a scaffold was the Abbess raising. When
No-Kami should come back, his evil genius would be gone. This favour
granted, Buddha would vouchsafe another. By force of supplication
Masago would obtain that the temper of the Hojo might be changed. He
would repent him of his evil ways, and atone in the future for the
past. Then it should be her proud privilege to bring together again
the husband and the wife. O'Tei must be taught to forgive, to break
down the barrier of ice behind which her better nature had been
shrouded. Warming in the radiance of a new happiness her frozen petals
would unfold, give forth their sweetness, and No-Kami would come to
know the treasure that he had ignorantly tossed aside. The wan cheek
of the old Abbess was flushed, her dimmed eyes sparkled, as she
revolved these things, devoutly giving thanks to Heaven. Is it not the
greatest joy that may be tasted by mortals--the permission to
intervene in the house of discord, and bring to it peace and
happiness? The end was plain to the prophetic vision of Masago, but
the way to it was long. The gentle O'Tei would be brought with little
trouble to play her part.
The difficulty lay with the geisha. The Abbess, mindful of yaku doshi,
resolved to be prudent and cautious--not precipitate; and yet,
whatever had to be done must be done before the return of No-Kami to
the castle. There was not time then for protracted cogitation. She
would appeal in person to the siren,--speak words inspired from on
high which should touch her flinty heart. Seizing her staff, the gaunt
figure in its flowing draperies of crape descended the long flight of
stairs, passed under the torii at the bottom, and strode, buoyed by
celestial fervour, along the winding street which led to the castle
gate. O'Kiku was in a boat upon the river---O'Tei's own favourite
shallop, which she had robbed her of, as of other things--and
marvelled greatly to behold the Abbess of the temple beckoning to her
from the shore.
Approaching, she reclined idly at the bottom of the boat, toying with
some winter blossoms she had plucked; dipping, in saucy contempt of
cold, the fingers of the other hand into the running water. She was
muffled in a robe of furs, her head swathed in a kerchief of thick
silk; and Masago remarked that she looked worn,--had lost that
freshness which had been her most piquant charm. Earnestly the Abbess
spoke; pleaded for the family honour on the verge of wreck; discoursed
with proud eloquence of the illustrious house of which she was a lowly
member; reminded her hearer that she, O'Kiku, also now was one of the
house, in precisely the same position as she, the speaker, had been.
There were two ways open to her. Lest she should bring upon herself
the reproach of having brought a great family to ruin, she must turn
over a new leaf, and eschew in future the vices for which she was
notorious; or, if waywardness was in her blood, she must depart, and
by self-sacrifice atone for the past, and save the family. Amused with
the thought that the Abbess must be mad, the geisha lay listening, a
sly smile playing about her lips, until the unlucky pleader began to
talk about her son. Then starting, as if bitten by an adder, uprose
the concubine, and, taking up the pole, leisurely pushed off from the
bank.
"Sampei, forsooth! A ridiculous old lunatic!" she scoffed, with a
superb head-toss. "You must be very insane. What! You'd have me go
hence and prison myself for the behoof of the pale idiot yonder? Even
if I were myself mad enough to consent, my lord would never love her.
The contemptible creature is barren; whereas I, the second wife--" and
with a trail of mocking merriment, and an attempt to raise a blush,
she smiled at the astounded Abbess, and propelled her bark into the
stream.
Masago remained standing, her tall figure mirrored in the water, her
shrunken hands crossed upon her breast, amazed and troubled. What was
this new factor in the embroglio? She was with child--the interloper.
There would soon be a new bond, a fresh silver link to unite more
closely the pair whom she was bound to separate. The woman's influence
over my lord would be greater than ever; and, all for evil as of yore.
The breach between No-Kami and O'Tei would grow wider. As in a
dream--with slow gait and corrugated brow--the Abbess passed back
towards the grove, heedless of the salutations of the peasants,--of
the brown urchins that plucked at her skirts. A child--a son,
perhaps--that woman's son! Swiftly there passed through her brain a
sense of the results that would accrue. The wife, ambitious and
unscrupulous, who was a mother, would become all-powerful. Fresh
insults would day by day be heaped on the one who was not thus blessed
among women. In her mind's eye Masago beheld a long train of disasters
and calamities, O'Kiku the active agent. Crouched down before the
altar, her chin supported by her palms, she gazed at the bronze symbol
that sat so calm and still and upright, with mouth shut and eyelids
closed.
"Oh, if you would vouchsafe to speak," she murmured imploringly, "one
little word of guidance. One other ray of light; one little, little
ray! During years of unflinching devotion has my life been given to
your service. I know that I have earned nothing save, perhaps, one
touch of pity!"
With sore and heavy heart the Abbess sighed, for the bronzed lips
remained tight shut, the eyelids closed. He was asleep and deaf. There
was no sound of comfort or of counsel.
Presently she distinguished the patter of clogs upon the outer stairs,
and, after a while a man, pushing aside the curtain, stood framed in
the doorway.
"Sampei!" Her boy! Was this the reply of Buddha? Ashy pale, trembling
like a leaf, the old woman bent to the stones with moving lips; while
the General, reverently doffing his geta, and beating his hands
together, approached and knelt. She took his warm broad hand between
her cold ones, and earnestly scrutinised his face. Her thoughts were
in such a turmoil that, though she heard his words, they seemed to
reach her ears from a distance, through a tunnel. Riding listlessly,
as was his wont, with no settled purpose, he had been astonished to
see the geisha in conference with his mother. What could those two
have had to say to each other? Greatly marvelling, he had watched, and
then turned his horse towards the temple. What ailed his mother, that
her features were grey-green? Was she ill? She looked so scared and
strange and terrified. Was it some ghost she saw that caused that look
of awe?
Without taking her eyes from her son's, the Abbess rose, and like one
in a trance led him behind the altar, down the open corridor, into her
own quiet chamber. Nothing could be more simple than its furnishing.
The woodwork was unadorned, but scrupulously clean, so were the mats
and screens. A plain fire-box of iron stood in the centre. Above the
low dais in the tokonoma, or place of honour, there hung a single and
very ancient kakemono, representing Kwannon, the thousand-handed; and
under it, upon the dais, stood in a lacquered sword-rack, a dirk in
its silken case.
Floating before Sampei she lifted the weapon, pressed it to her bosom,
then slowly unfastening the case, drew forth the dirk, which, with a
cry, he recognised. It was a precious blade, forged by Miochin
himself, adorned with a hilt minutely worked with gold--a dirk which
in childhood he had been wont to play with.
"My father's!" he murmured, and pressed it to his lips and forehead.
"Your father's!" echoed the Abbess, in a whisper, drawing herself to
the full height of her commanding stature, and placing on the bent
head of her son a trembling hand. "Your father, and _his_, wore yonder
blade in many a fray, and it was never sullied with dishonour. To you,
my dear son, do I surrender it. The gods have spoken. She must die!"
As pale as his mother, who looked on him now with a rapt and solemn
smile, Sampei heaved a sigh of relief. _She_. His nerves tingled to
his finger ends, for he had thought that the deed must be done which
had so often crossed his mind, and which he had always put away from
him with dread. It was not his brother--thanks to the gods for
that--but the wicked concubine, whose blood was required in atonement.
Then the two sat down, and the inspired priestess spoke.
"The honour of the family was to be saved by him--Sampei. Buddha
himself had deigned to settle it. He must bide his time, and wait and
watch, and when occasion offered he must, with his father's dirk, slay
the baleful sorceress. With his own hand must the deed be done--not be
trusted to a hireling, even to a samurai. It might be some time before
the fitting opportunity presented itself, for the braves, whom she
still debauched, would defend her doubtless with their lives. There
must not be too long delay, lest my lord No-Kami should come home. The
avenging hand must be sure and steady; the result not a mere wound,
but--death."
Nodding, Sampei placed the weapon in his obi, and, embracing his
mother, departed with proud step. It was to be his privilege--by
Buddha's own decree--to save the honour of the house,--to rescue his
infatuated brother,--to bestow upon the dear O'Tei a measure of future
happiness.
Masago, calm now, returned to the temple, and spent the night in
vigil. Blessed be Buddha; for his mercy thrice-blessed! He had spoken
through the silent lips. The course and conscience of his handmaid
were clear as crystal now.