Seven Japanese Tales Read online

  Thus one year went by, and then another, as if in a dream. In the meantime we kept urging her to go on various outings, whether to see the cherry blossoms in spring or the scarlet leaves in autumn; but she always said: “I'd rather not. Why don't the rest of you go?” She lived entirely cut off from the world — her one consolation was to be in the company of her daughters. That was the only time when you heard her laugh. Happily, all three of her children were in excellent health, growing so fast that they seemed taller every day. Even little Kogo was already toddling about and beginning to prattle. But that was another source of grief. Looking on, Lady Oichi would say to herself: “If her father could see her now. . .” What hurt her most of all, as a mother, was the memory of Lord Mampukumaru's death. She could not forget it. Out of sheer thoughtlessness she had turned her own child over to the enemy, to meet that horrible end. Full of hatred toward the one who had deceived her — and chagrin for having been deceived — she was quite unable to resign herself to what had happened. Besides, though she never mentioned it, she must have worried constantly about her youngest son, who had been hidden at the Fukuden Temple. How was he getting along? Luckily, he was safe for the time being, since Nobunaga was not aware of his existence. But she had heard nothing whatever of him after being separated from him when he was only an infant at the breast. As a result, she idolized her daughters all the more, giving them the love and affection that she could no longer give her sons.

  I believe that Lord Kyogoku Takatsugu was about twelve or thirteen at that time. Later he served under Nobunaga; but he was supposed to stay at Kiyosu until he came of age, and sometimes he visited Lady Oichi. Takatsugu was the heir of Lord Takahide, whose family had once ruled northern Omi with the Asai family as their vassals. For that reason, he ought by rights to have become master of half of Omi. However, at the time that his ancestor Takakiyo took religious orders and retired to live in seclusion at the foot of Mount Ibuki, all these lands were seized by the Asai, and the family reduced to poverty. So after the fall of Odani, Nobunaga singled the boy out to become one of his own samurai, with a view to establishing him as a grateful ally in northern Omi. Later, in June of 1582, Takatsugu joined in the rebellion against Nobunaga and was one of those who attacked the castle at Nagahama; and in 1600, while the Battle of Sekigahara was being fought, he betrayed Lord Hideyoshi's heir and shut himself up in his own castle at Otsu, holding off fifteen thousand attackers with only three thousand men. But when he was still a young boy at Kiyosu he showed no sign of turning out to be so perverse.

  Takatsugu was just at the age when you might expect him to be at his naughtiest, and yet, because of the obscurity in which he had been brought up, there was a rather melancholy air about him. Even when he came to see my mistress he talked so little and behaved so meekly that I hardly knew he was present. Now, since his mother had been Asai Nagamasa's sister, Lady Oichi was his aunt by marriage and her daughters were his cousins. So, partly out of longing for Mampukumaru, she lavished affection on him. “Think of me as your mother,” she would say, “and come to see me whenever you have the time.” She was extremely kind to him, and praised him warmly. “The boy is quiet, but there's something fine and strong in him. I am sure he's very intelligent too.” Yes, it was much later — seven or eight years, I think — that he married Ohatsu; in those days Lady Oichi's daughters were too young for talk of a match with him. Still, I wonder if he didn't secretly prefer Ochacha to Ohatsu, and if his visits weren't really for the purpose of stealing a glimpse of her. No one else paid any attention to it, but I'm sure he had some reason for sitting there respectfully with my mistress hour after hour, scarcely talking, as calm and self-possessed as any adult. Otherwise, why did he come so often to a place where there was nothing to amuse him, and sit there quietly being bored? But I was the only one who had an inkling of what was going on. When I whispered to the other servants: “That child seems to be making eyes at Ochacha!” they all laughed and said I thought so because I was blind. None of them took me seriously.

  Well, my mistress Oichi stayed at Kiyosu from the autumn of 1573 — that was when Odani Castle fell — till about autumn of the year Nobunaga died. So it was nine full years in all. Indeed, time flies like an arrow, as people say; once it's gone and you look back, you can see how true that is. But still, nine years seems awfully long to a person living in isolation from the disturbances all around, not even knowing what battles have taken place. And so, without quite realizing it, Lady Oichi began to forget her sorrows — she got to taking out her koto again and diverting herself with music. I followed her example and began to spend my leisure hours practicing the samisen and singing, not only because I enjoyed it but because I wanted to help cheer her up. I worked hard, so that I would be able to please her.

  That was about the time when the little songs named after Ryutatsu were becoming popular. One of them went this way:

  Can you really be frost or the virgin snow?

  You seem to melt into my arms

  Tonight as I hold you close.

  I often entertained the ladies with them. Nowadays Ryutatsu songs are out of date, but for a while they were all the rage — everyone, high and low, sang them. Once when the Regent Hideyoshi was watching No plays at his Fushimi Castle he summoned Ryutatsu and had him sing them on the stage, with Lord Yusai accompanying him on the small drum. But they were only beginning to be popular while I was at Kiyosu; at first all I did was teach them to the maidservants, beating time with my fan and singing in a low voice so that no one else would hear. They liked the suggestive ones, such as the song about the “virgin snow,” and whenever I sang for them they went into gales of laughter. Before long, Lady Oichi heard us and said: “Please sing that for me, too!”

  I tried to refuse, explaining that it wasn't the sort of thing for a great lady to hear. But she insisted, and after that I often sang for her. She was especially fond of the song that goes “Sweet spring showers, don't scatter the cherry blossoms!” and always asked for it. On the whole, she seemed to like the sad, sentimental ones, songs like this:

  The cold winter rains and the snow

  Only fall now and then

  —

  But because of you, my tears

  Are falling constantly.

  Or this:

  Even though you love,

  Do not let your love be known.

  But do not forget

  While you pretend you do not love!

  Maybe the words of these songs touched some hidden feelings of mine. . . Anyway, whenever I sang them, pouring out my heart, I felt a mysterious strength within me and found myself elaborating on the melody, singing in a warmer, more passionate tone of voice. Those who listened to me were moved, as I was myself — my cares vanished into thin air.

  Also, I gave a good deal of thought to the samisen accompaniment and improvised pleasing interludes between the vocal phrases, which made the songs all the more effective. It sounds boastful of me to say such a thing, I suppose, but it's a fact that I was the first one to add a samisen accompaniment to songs of that kind. In those days most people simply beat out the rhythm for them on the small drum.

  I seem to go on talking about music, but I've always thought that no one is more fortunate than a person who has a naturally beautiful voice and who knows how to sing. Ryutatsu himself was only a druggist in Sakai at first, but because he was a good singer he received the honor of a lifetime: performing before the Regent, and being accompanied by Lord Yusai. Of course, he was a master who invented a new style; compared with him, I am utterly insignificant. But it was because of my own humble accomplishments that I enjoyed such extraordinary favor with Lady Oichi: during those nine years at Kiyosu I was constantly at her side, her companion in every pleasure. People have all sorts of desires, you can't say what is likely to appeal to them; so perhaps some would feel sorry for a man like me. But those nine years were the happiest of my life. Because of them, I don't have the slightest envy of Ryutatsu. After all, I played the samisen
to my heart's content in accompanying my mistress, I soothed her troubled feelings by singing her favorite songs, time and again I was showered with praise by her — I was far happier than I would have been at entertaining Lord Hideyoshi! Since I could not have known such pleasure except for being blind, I have never to this day regretted my handicap.

  There is a proverb: “The ant's wish is heard in Heaven.” Even a poor blind musician can be loyal, and I gave myself up wholly to serving Lady Oichi, trying to ease her cares a little, to do all I could to brighten her mood. Maybe because of my prayers to the gods — not that that was the only reason — she slowly began blossoming out again, after having been very thin. When she first came home to Kiyosu there was a hollow between her shoulder blades, and it gradually deepened — all over her body the flesh shrank away alarmingly. Tears came to my eyes whenever I massaged her. But, happily, from about the third year she began gaining weight; after seven or eight years she was even more beautiful, more alluring than she had been at Odani — you could hardly believe she had given birth to five children!

  According to her attendants, Lady Oichi's round face became thin and drawn for a time, but then her cheeks filled out again adorably. She was so lovely, they said, with a few loose strands of hair across her cheek, that even women were enchanted by her. She had always had a milk-white skin, to be sure, but those long years spent shut away in a sunless inner room, like a still drift of snow, had made it almost transparent: they say that the whiteness of her face, if you happened to see her sitting pensively in the shadows at dusk, was enough to make your hair stand on end. Of course, a sensitive blind person can distinguish such things by touch; I didn't need to be told how white her skin was. And fair skins are not all alike — that of a lady of high rank is quite out of the ordinary. Indeed, Lady Oichi was nearly thirty, and with each year her beauty had grown more striking. Her skin was even smoother than it had been in her youth. Her face was lovelier than ever, her black hair all but dripping with dew; she looked as fresh as a lotus flower. The fine silks she wore seemed to flow over her like water, such was the bewitching grace of her delicate, softly rounded body. To think that she was widowed early, her dazzling beauty hidden away, and that she was left to spend all her nights sleeping pitifully alone! They say a flower hidden in the mountains has a richer perfume than a garden flower: had anyone been able to catch a glimpse of her behind her curtains — there where only the nightingale sang to her in spring and only the slanting moonlight came to her in autumn — he would surely have burned with passionate devotion, just as Hideyoshi once did. But fate decided otherwise.

  So life went on in that way, and Lady Oichi seemed to be eagerly awaiting the arrival of another spring. But apparently she was still haunted by the old pain and bitterness. One day while I was massaging her and chatting with her as usual, she must have felt a sudden impulse to open her heart, for she spoke to me with such amazing frankness as she never did before or since. At first she seemed in remarkably good spirits: she talked about old memories — memories of her life at Odani, and of Lord Nagamasa — in the course of which she recalled the first meeting between Nobunaga and Nagamasa, at the castle of Sawayama. And she told me the whole story.

  It seems that the meeting took place soon after her marriage. At that time Sawayama was part of the Asai domains; so Nobunaga came there from Mino, and Nagamasa went as far as the Surihari Pass to meet him. After escorting his guest back to the castle and exchanging formal greetings, Nagamasa gave a magnificent banquet. Now, the following day Lord Nobunaga made this proposal: “Allow me to borrow your castle instead of entertaining you in mine. I wish to be your host and return the honor you have paid me, but the situation is so critical throughout the country just now that I doubt whether it is safe to waste time traveling.” Thus he invited Lord Nagamasa and the old master to a banquet in this very same castle; and his presents to them included a sword made by Muneyoshi, along with a fortune in gold and silver, with some for each of the retainers as well. In return, Nagamasa gave him a sword by Kanemitsu, long a family heirloom, a collection of poems on famous places in Omi composed by Fujiwara Teika, a cream-colored charger, Omi cotton, and many other splendid gifts. He gave new swords and daggers to all the members of Nobunaga's party too.

  When Lady Oichi arrived there from Odani to see her brother once again after long separation, Nobunaga was almost beside himself with joy. He summoned the chief Asai retainers and addressed them in these words: “Listen to me, all of you! Now that your master is my brother-in-law, the whole of Japan will soon come under the banners of our two houses. If you will give us your full support, your last ounce of strength, you can be sure that I'll make every one of you a great lord!” The banqueting went on all day, and that night the brothers-in-law went to Lady Oichi's room, where the three of them had a long, intimate talk. Nobunaga stayed on at the castle more than ten days. During that time he was feasted on fresh-water fish such as carp and crucian, of which large numbers were netted from Lake Biwa in the inlet at the foot of the mountain. These delicacies pleased him so much that he asked to take some of them home with him, since they were not to be had in Mino. Finally he left in the best of humor, the day after a last farewell banquet.

  After telling me all this Lady Oichi said: “At that time my brother and my late husband were always smiling together, as if they were really close to each other. You can imagine how happy it made me.” And she added: “I see now that those ten days were the happiest of my life. I suppose happiness isn't something you find often in a lifetime.”

  In those days neither my mistress nor the retainers dreamed that the two families would have a falling out; everyone celebrated the coming victories. Later, though, it seems there were some who criticized Lord Nagamasa for giving away the Kanemitsu sword. According to their argument, he should never have parted with such a treasure, for the sword had been the favorite weapon of his grandfather Lord Sukemasa. To have given it to another family, whatever the occasion, they said, was an omen that the House of Asai would be destroyed by the Oda.

  But it's easy enough to blame other people. I'm sure Lord Nagamasa gave such a precious object because of his extraordinary regard for his wife and brother-in-law. To grumble about bringing on the destruction of the family — isn't that the kind of talk you hear from know-it-alls, after they see how things have turned out? When I said as much to Lady Oichi she nodded approval. “You are perfectly right,” she said. “No one should marry into a family and still let his mind dwell on thoughts of destroying it, or being destroyed. After all, it wasn't easy for my brother to make that long journey from Mino with only a small number of men, crossing through what might well be hostile territory as far as he knew. I think it was quite natural for a man like my husband to be so generous under the circumstances.”

  She paused a moment. “But we had a few bad men among our retainers, too. Endo Kiemon came galloping up after us as soon as we were back at Odani. 'Nobunaga is going to spend the night at Kashiwabara,' he whispered to my husband, trying not to let me hear. 'It's a good chance to finish him off!' My husband merely laughed and said: 'What an idiotic notion!'”

  It seems that Nagamasa had accompanied Nobunaga as far as the Surihari Pass, where he took his leave, ordering Endo Kiemon and two of his other samurai to escort the party further. When Nobunaga arrived at Kashiwabara he went to the Jobodai Monastery to stay overnight. Remarking that since this was part of Nagamasa's territory there was nothing to fear, he kept with him only his own pages and the usual night watch: all his other samurai were allowed to spend the night in town. Endo, seeing how matters stood, immediately turned and galloped back to Odani, lashing his horse all the way. What he said to Nagamasa in private was something like this: “I have been watching Lord Nobunaga carefully — his mind is as quick as lightning, and he's as sharp-eyed as a monkey leaping from limb to limb. You can't expect to keep on good terms forever with such a formidable general. But tonight he seems very much at ease, and has stationed a mere fourteen or
fifteen men around him; I think it might be best to act immediately. If you seize this chance and send a large force to kill him, and then attack Gifu Castle, both Mino and Owari will fall into your hands. And if you go on to defeat the Sasaki in southern Omi, carry the war to the capital, and put down the Miyoshi family, the whole country will be yours in the twinkling of an eye!”

  This suggestion was argued most persuasively, but Lord Nagamasa would have nothing to do with it. “There are certain rules of conduct for a general,” he replied. “It's all right to ambush an enemy, but it's cowardly to trick a man who has come to you because he trusts you. Nobunaga has confidence in me and is going to spend tonight in my domains. If I take advantage of this by attacking him when he is off guard, I may win a momentary victory, but in the end Heaven will punish me for it. If I wanted to kill him I could have done it while we were at Sawayama. I detest the very thought of such a dishonorable act.”

  So Endo gave up trying to influence him. “Then there is nothing to be done,” he said, “but the time will come when you'll be sorry.” And he went back to Kashiwabara, where he joined the feasting as if nothing had happened. The following day he escorted Nobunaga safely to Sekigahara.

  After giving me a detailed account of these events, my mistress commented: “When I look back on it today, I have to admit that there was truth in what Endo said.” As she spoke, her voice quivered strangely. It startled me somehow, and disturbed me. But she went on at once, as if talking to herself. “No matter how honorably one side behaves, it's useless if the other side won't do the same. Must you really be such a beast to rule the country?” Then she fell silent — she seemed on the verge of tears.