UNDER THE MOON.
The road by way of the stream was a longer one than that by the
street, for the river wound with many a turn and twist, as if loth to
reach the sea. It was no more than a path, stony in some places and
muddy in others--rough throughout; and there were spots where the
unwieldy vehicle was in danger of overturning. The Japanese are so
innately poetic that even the least educated find pleasure in gazing
upon nature in its sweetest moods. On Lake Biwa, not far from
Ki[^y]oto, there is, while I write, a tea-house on a hill, which, at
certain seasons, does a thriving trade, because from that particular
spot an entrancing view may be obtained of moon and foliage and water.
And it is not the cultured class alone that enjoys this refined
amusement. The common horny-handed field coolie may be seen smoking
his pipe, beaming with satisfaction, upon the mat, surrounded by wife
and children, all equally enchanted by the spectacle.
On the river-bank, built out over the stream, not far from Tsu, there
was just such another tea-house, from which a view was obtained of
land-locked bay and rocks and feathery bamboo--the self-same picture
which O'Tei used to enjoy from her own garden near the temple, seen
from another point. It was to this tea-house that O'Kiku had proposed
to conduct the rollicking samurai, to sit there a while with quip and
jest, and thence return to supper. Preparations had been made on a
grand scale; coolies had been sent to repair the path in rotten places
with bundles of rushes, to clear away stones; and therefore the
expedition was a matter of talk for several days before among those
who dwelt in the castle. It was in obedience to a whim--in order more
completely to crush her rival--that O'Tei had elected to choose this
route. A vision of her favourite landscape had appeared before her. It
was so long since she had seen it that she yearned to look on it
again. As the procession moved swiftly and silently over the snow, she
became lost in reverie. She had been happy once in her garden in a
negative sort of way. How long ago it seemed! And since those early
days (sure a century since) what a catalogue of suffering and crime!
Yes, it must be a century, not a few years only. She was an old, old
woman, seared and world-worn, longing for the mysterious change. Her
ordeal on this planet would soon be over. How gladly would she move
elsewhere.
The cold was intense. She drew over her head a purple kerchief, for
the beauty of the scene must not be blocked out by curtains. The
well-skilled bearers marched with a steady, gentle sway, picking their
steps with cat-like caution. Their straw shoes made no sound on the
soft snow. The regular rhythm of their breathing lulled to repose.
Leaning back her weary head upon the cushions, O'Tei fell fast asleep.
At the last turn of the river, before reaching the spot whereon stood
the tea-house, it sweeps in a wide bend, leaving a large flat space--a
dangerous pitfall; for, firm though it appears to the unwary, between
the pools it is a quagmire, a bog of thick ooze which forms a kind of
quicksand. The bearers knew this right well, for skirting the water
close they hugged a narrow causeway of masonry, the group that bore
the pole walking one before the other, keeping time with monotonous
chant, the rest of the party falling back, following in single file.
It was necessary to move slowly now, for a false step would
precipitate the top-heavy vehicle into the water. Two bettos pioneered
in front, stepping deftly backwards, holding their lanterns aloft
above their heads. "Steady, lads, steady!" one of them exhorted
cheerily. Forty yards farther on the path would widen again, and the
rest of the journey was plain-sailing.
Whirr! The bettos turned round startled. What was that? nothing; a
stream of awakened wild-fowl scudding across the flat. The night was
so solemnly silent that their wings rent the stillness with a loud
sharp tearing as of linen.
* * * * *
For hours past, from out a brake of sedge and reeds two bright eyes
had been intently watching. Heedless of cold and wet a man had been
lying concealed with face turned towards the castle. From this point
the fortress loomed out of the river in a dense mass against the sky,
in full sombre majesty of battlement and ponderous roof and storied
tower, with fish of gold upon its summit; for it was on this side that
the stream laved its foundation wall of Cyclopean stones as it brawled
towards the sea.
From where he lay, wrapped in a coolie's rain-coat, the man could mark
the procession from afar, a line of swart insects on the white,
glow-worms with twinkling lights. As they approached, winding with the
river's windings, he counted the number of men who bore the litter,
and observed with surprised exultation that the guards had been left
behind. There was no panoply of spear and streaming banner and
glancing lance-head, no clatter of armed horsemen such as usually
attends the progress of a noble's kago.
"My task will be the easier," he muttered, unfastening the thongs of
his rain-coat, and taking in the corners of his mouth the ends of the
cloth about his head. The man's attire was strange and incongruous,
for though his garb was that of a peasant, the cloth from out of which
his sharp eyes peered was of silk broidered with silver. He rose
stealthily upon his knees, felt for a dirk in his obi, drew forth the
blade and ran a finger along the edge, then laid the scabbard in the
water.
"How slow they are," he murmured.
Nearer--nearer still. The bearers were intent upon their task, for
there had been a frost last night, and the stones were slippery.
Clouds had been rising in banks, masses of cumuli that passed fitfully
across the moon. Snowflakes began to fall.
Hist! what was that, another batch of waterfowl? No; a cry as of
frighted animals. A commotion--a rush--a panic. Robbers! a gang--a
multitude.
Stabbed in the back, the two bettos dropped without a struggle. For an
instant the attendants strove to free themselves from cumbrous
grass-coats, to disengage their swords from oiled paper coverings, in
vain; for it must be at least a dozen nimble blades, wielded by unseen
hands, that were swirling through the air with such deadly purpose.
Who could have foreseen that on this quiet track assassins were in
ambush? With a howl and a cry of treachery the cohort of poltroons
abandoned the litter, which fell heavily on its side, and fled over
the quicksand, where they buffeted, to lie engulfed. The man, for
there was but one--or was it not the god of thunder?--dashed at the
fallen kago, tore back with one hand its half-closed curtains, from
whose folds there emerged a woman. A sway of two tussling figures, as
the clouds swept over the moon, and the snow fell thickly. A tossing
of white arms and clutching fingers clasped in a grip of death. A
gurgle, a long wild shriek--so terrible a cry of anguish, as a soul
was forcibly rent from out its tenement, that boors within their huts
crept close together and prayed for protection against goblins. Even
the austere figure of the avenger remained for a second spellbound,
as, standing erect to wipe his dirk, his ear followed that last
piteous wail of agony that faded in the music of the stream.
His task was successfully accomplished: to the gods all gratitude. He
peered anxiously around, while he bound up something in a purple
kerchief, then, drawing the pick from his katana's sheath, thrust it
through the silk for easier carrying. He was alone with slumbering
nature, and with it. The relay had fled to give alarm. There was
nought to be seen of the others save distant circles on the watery
quagmire, with here and there a hand whose groping soon was stilled.
At his feet lay the two dead bettos and a heap of sumptuous furs, from
out of which there trickled a thick stream that meandered slow over
the stones.
Looking upward at the moon, which now unveiled again, the man, smiling
softly, pressed to his lips the dirk. "Old friend," he murmured,
"beloved of my father, thou hast saved his honour and ours, an evil
life the ransom. With speed to my mother now, that she may know the
atonement is complete."
He sought for a moment leisurely among the reeds, and seeing the
scabbard gleam, replaced it with the dirk within his belt. Then
swinging his burthen in his hand, he strode quickly away towards the
temple.
His mind was relieved of a great anxiety, and he felt happier than for
many a day. All had gone well. In the scurry not one had seen his
face, swathed as it was by a cloth. There was nothing to betray whose
arm had been that which had struck the ghastly blow. There would be
turmoil and uproar among the samurai, a hot pursuit of the assassins;
then, search proving vain, silence, and oblivion. The family honour
was safe. The concubine would be speedily forgotten, and it would be
as if the shadow of the wicked geisha had never crossed their path.
Under the torii, up the long straight flight of stairs, through the
temple where Mine and the nuns were praying audibly, to the corridor
beyond, off which was the chamber of the Abbess.
A light was flickering. She was awake, anxious for the arrival of the
chatelaine. Her ascetic visage was wrapped in holy calm, as with
closed eyes she told her beads. The sound of her son's dear footfall,
as he strode across the floor, aroused her, and she looked on him with
fond inquiry.
"My mother, it is done," he whispered, out of breath. "Here have I
brought the proof that your instructions have been obeyed."
Masago, raising herself with difficulty, stretched forth eager hands
to claim the bundle, and, her fingers trembling with exultation,
hasted to untie its knots. Then from her breast was wrung a wail,
racked with the ring of unavailing grief, echo of that shriek along
the water.
Out of her grasp, upon the mat, there rolled a woman's head, bloody
and waxen. Its delicate features were warped, convulsed in the life
battle. Stretched wide in terror were its glassy eyes, its parted lips
distorted.
Stunned and dazed, crowned with the brain-ache of a hopeless sorrow,
the icy grip about his heart of a despair that might never be
assuaged, Sampei sank slowly on his knees.
For the eyes that stared upon him now in mute imploring were those he
loved best on earth.
The face was the face of O'Tei, the fair, and gentle, and unfortunate.