"So sorry, Sire, please excuse me, but I don't deserve such honor," Omi said.
"You're young but you show great promise, beyond your years. Your grandfather was very like you, very clever, but he had no patience." Again the sound of the ladies' laughter, and Toranaga watched Kiku, trying to decide about her, his original plan now cast aside.
"May I ask what you mean by patience, Sire?" Omi said, instinctively feeling that Toranaga wanted the question to be asked.
Toranaga still looked at the girl, warmed by her. "Patience means restraining yourself. There are seven emotions, neh? Joy, anger, anxiety, adoration, grief, fear, and hate. If a man doesn't give way to these, he's patient. I'm not as strong as I might be but I'm patient. Understand?"
"Yes, Sire. Very clearly."
"Patience is very necessary in a leader."
"Yes."
"That lady, for example. She's a distraction to me, too beautiful, too perfect for me. I'm too simple for such a rare creature. So I've decided she belongs elsewhere."
"But, Sire, even as one of your lesser ladies..." Omi mouthed the politeness that both men knew a sham, though obligatory, and all the time Omi was praying as he had never prayed before, knowing what was possible, knowing that he could never ask.
"I quite agree," Toranaga said. "But great talent merits sacrifice." He was still watching her throwing her fan, catching her maid's fan in return, her gaiety infectious. Then both the ladies were obscured by the horses. So sorry, Kiku-san, he thought, but I have to pass you on, to settle you out of reach quickly. The truth is, I really am getting too fond of you, though Gyoko would never believe I had told her the truth, nor will Omi, nor even you yourself. "Kiku-san is worthy of a house of her own. With a husband of her own."
"Better a consort of the lowest samurai than wife of a farmer or merchant, however rich."
"I don't agree."
For Omi those words ended the matter. Karma, he told himself, his misery overwhelming him. Put your sadness away, fool. Your liege lord has decided, so that is the end of it. Midori is a perfect wife. Your mother is to become a nun, so now your house will have harmony.
So much sadness today. And happiness: daimyo of Izu-to-be; Commander of the Regiment; the Anjin-san's to be kept in Anjiro, therefore the first ship is to be built within Izu - in my fief. Put aside your sadness. Life is all sadness. Kiku-san has her karma, I have mine, Toranaga has his, and my Lord Yabu shows how foolish it is to worry about this or that or anything.
Omi looked up at Toranaga, his mind clear and everything compartmentalized. "Please excuse me, Sire, I beg your forgiveness. I wasn't thinking clearly."
"You may greet her if you wish, before you leave."
"Thank you, Sire." Omi wrapped up Yabu's head. "Do you wish me to bury it - or display it?"
"Put it on a spear, facing the wreck."
"What was his death poem?"
Omi said:
"What are clouds
But an excuse for the sky?
What is life But an escape from death?"
Toranaga smiled. "Interesting," he said.
Omi bowed and gave the wrapped head to one of his men and went through the horses and samurai to the far courtyard.
"Ah, Lady," he said to her with kind formality. "I'm so pleased to see you well and happy."
"I'm with my Lord, Omi-san, and he's strong and content. How can I be anything but happy."
"Sayonara, Lady."
"Sayonara, Omi-sama." She bowed, aware of a vast finality now, never quite realizing it before. A tear welled and she brushed it aside and bowed again as he walked away.
She watched his tall, firm stride and would have wept aloud, her heart near breaking, but then, as always, she heard the so-many-times-said words in her memory, kindly spoken, wisely spoken, 'Why do you weep, child? We of the Floating World live only for the moment, giving all our time to the pleasures of cherry blossoms and snow and maple leaves, the calling of a cricket, the beauty of the moon, waning and growing and being reborn, singing our songs and drinking cha and sake, knowing perfumes and the touch of silks, caressing for pleasure, and drifting, always drifting. Listen, child: never sad, always drifting as a lily on the current in the stream of life. How lucky you are, Kiku-chan, you're a Princess of Ukiyo, the Floating World, drift, live for the moment....' Kiku brushed away a second tear, a last tear. Silly girl to weep. Weep no more! she ordered herself. You're so incredibly lucky! You're consort to the greatest daimyo himself, even though a very lesser, unofficial one, but what does that matter - your sons will be born samurai. Isn't this the most incredible gift in the world? Didn't the soothsayer predict such an incredible good fortune, never to be believed? But now it's true, neh? If you must weep there are more important things to weep about. About the growing seed in your loins that the weird-tasting cha took out of you. But why weep about that? It was only an "it" and not a child and who was the father? Truly?
"I don't know, not for certain, Gyoko-san, so sorry, but I think it's my Lord's," she had said finally, wanting his child so much to bind the promise of samurai.
"But say the child's born with blue eyes and a fair skin? It may, neh? Count the days."
"I've counted and counted, oh, how I've counted!"
"Then be honest with yourself. So sorry, but both of our futures depend on you now. You've many a birthing year ahead of you. You're just eighteen, child, neh? Better to be sure, neh?"
Yes, she thought again, how wise you are, Gyoko-san, and how silly I was, bewitched. It was only an "it" and how sensible we Japanese are to know that a child is not a proper child until thirty days after birth when its spirit is firmly fixed in its body and its karma inexorable. Oh, how lucky I am, and I want a son and another and another and never a girl child. Poor girl children! Oh gods, bless the soothsayer and thank you thank you thank you for my karma that I am favored by the great daimyo, that my sons will be samurai and oh, please make me worthy of such marvelousness ....
"What is it, Mistress?" little Suisen asked, awed by the joy that seemed to pour out of Kiku.
Kiku sighed contentedly. "I was thinking about the soothsayer and my Lord and my karma, just drifting, drifting...."
She went farther out into the courtyard, shading herself with her scarlet umbrella, to seek Toranaga. He was almost hidden by the horses and samurai and falcons in the courtyard, but she could see he was still on the veranda, sipping cha now, Fujiko bowing before him again. Soon it'll be my turn, she thought. Perhaps tonight we can begin a new "it." Oh, please.... Then, greatly happy, she turned back to her game.
Outside the gateway Omi was mounting his horse and he galloped off with his guards, faster and ever faster, the speed refreshing him, cleansing him, the pungent sweat-smell of his horse pleasing. He did not look back at her because there was no need. He knew that he had left all his life's passion, and everything that he had adored, at her feet. He was sure he would never know passion again, the spirit-joining ecstasy that ignited man and woman. But this did not displease him. On the contrary, he thought with a newfound icy clarity, I bless Toranaga for releasing me from servitude. Now nothing binds me. Neither father nor mother nor Kiku. Now I can be patient too. I'm twenty-one, I'm almost daimyo of Izu, and I've a world to conquer.
"Yes, Sire?" Fujiko was saying.
"You're to go direct from here to Anjiro. I've decided to change the Anjin-san's fief from around Yokohama to Anjiro. Twenty ri in every direction from the village, with a yearly income of four thousand koku. You'll take over Omi-san's house."
"May I thank you on his behalf, Sire. So sorry, do I understand that he doesn't know about this yet?"
"No. I'll tell him today. I've ordered him to build another ship, Fujiko-san, to replace the one lost, and Anjiro will be a perfect shipyard, much better than Yokohama. I've arranged with the Gyoko woman for her eldest son to be business overseer for the Anjin-san, and all materials and craftsmen will be paid for out of my treasury. You'll have to help him set up some form of administration."
"Oh ko, Sire," she said, immediately concerned. "My time remaining with the Anjin-san will be so short."
"Yes. I'll have to find him another consort - or wife. Neh?"
Fujiko looked up, her eyes narrowing. Then she said, "Please, how may I help?"
Toranaga said, "Whom would you suggest? I want the Anjin-san to be content. Contented men work better, neh?"
"Yes." Fujiko reached into her mind. Who would compare with Mariko-sama? Then she smiled. "Sire, Omi-san's present wife, Midori-san. His mother hates her, as you know, and wants Omi divorced - so sorry, but she had the astounding bad manners to say it in front of me. Midori-san's such a lovely lady and, oh, so very clever. " "You think Omi wants to be divorced?" Another piece of the puzzle fell in place.
"Oh, no, Sire, I'm sure he doesn't. What man wants really to obey his mother? But that's our law, so he should have divorced her the first time his parents mentioned it, neh? Even though his mother's very bad tempered, she surely knows what's best for him, of course. So sorry, I have to be truthful as this is a most important matter. Of course I mean no offense, Sire, but filial duty to one's parents is the corner post of our law."