el.the miko-第11部分

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mosphere。〃
　〃Kusunoki's　death　has　turned　them　into　alarmists；　they　see　hostiles　in　the　movement　of　the　shadows。〃
　〃Then　be　especially　bold。〃
　〃The　danger　has　increased。〃
　〃And　has　your　dedication　to　the　goals　of　the　Motherland　therefore　decreased？〃
　〃I　will　not　waver　from　the　cause；　you　know　that。〃
　〃Good。　Then　this　conversation　is　at　an　end。〃
　A　light　went　on　atop　the　scarred　metal　desk；　dim　and　buzzing；　coldly　fluorescent；　emanating　from　an　ancient　khaki　gooseneck　lamp　that　had　been　functionally　ugly　when　new　and　now　was　light…years　away　from　that。
　This　fitful　pale　mauve　illumination　revealed　a　face　no　more　unusual　than　an　accountant's　or　a　professor's。　Black　eyes　above　sloped　Slavic　cheekbones　were　penetratingly　intelligent；　to　be　sure；　but　his　fine；　tufted　hair；　the　liver　spots　high　on　his　domed　forehead；　and　the　rather　weak　chin　all　bined　to　paint　a　portrait　of　a　bland；　unremarkable　man。　Nothing　could　be　further　from　the　truth。
　His　slender…fingered　hand　came　away　from　the　phone；　already　his　mind　was　racing。　He　did　not　like　the　sudden　murder　of　the　sensei；　he　knew　well　Kusunoki's　power　and　was　astonished　that　the　sensei　had　been　overpowered　at　all。　Still；　he　was　trained　to　use　any　and　all　unforeseen　circumstance　to　his　benefit；　and　striking　swiftly　and　surely　during　times　of　confusion　was　standard　procedure。
　Contrary　to　what　his　brethren　back　home　espoused；　he　enjoyed　working　with　these　locals。　While　he　would　never　invite　one　to　marry　his　daughter…if　he　had　one…he　could　admire　their　expertise；　their　dogged　persistence；　and；　above　all；　their　rabid　fanaticism。　This　fascinated　him；　it　was　also　his　secret　weapon　against　political　assassination　back　home。
　While　his　position；　among　all　his　brethren；　was　most　secure…　simply　because　he　fed　them　a　steady　diet　of　fear　and　secrecy；　two　elements　which　never　failed　to　catch　their　attention…still　one　found　it　good　practice　to　keep　shuffling　the　cards；　keeping　options　open；　finding　the　soft　spots　in　one's　superiors'　private　lives　that　would　turn　the　key　in　the　lock　of　one's　future。　That　was　a　lesson　he　had　learned　well　and　hard。
　He　turned　away　from　the　phone；　activating　the　portable　but　very　powerful　512K　puter　terminal；　rechecking　the　myriad　random　elements　he　had　thrown　at　the　original　program。　Still　it　was　holding　up。
　His　grunt　in　the　otherwise　silent　room　told　of　his　satisfaction。　With　an　effort；　he　rose　and　lumbered　to　the　door　as　thick　and　impenetrable　as　a　bank　vault。　Dialing　the　bination；　he　let　himself　out。
　Nicholas　left　the　dazzling　glitter　of　the　enormous　hotel　behind　him；　a　city　within　a　city；　and　took　the　immaculate；　silent　subway　into　the　Asakusa　district。　The　blank…faced　jostling　throng　who　rode　along　with　him　with　their　fashionable　clothes　and　French…style　　makeup　were　outwardly　very　different　from　the　members　of　the　war　generation。　Yet　Nicholas　could　not　forget　what　happened　here…as　it　did　throughout　all　of　Tokyo…on　March　9；　1945。　The　firebombing　by　American　warplanes。
　Here　in　the　Asakusa　district；　people　sought　the　sanctuary　of　the　great　and　beloved　Buddhist　temple　of　Kannon；　the　goddess　of　Pity。　Built　in　the　seventeenth　century；　this　was　thought　safe　because　it　had　survived　all　the　great　fires　of　Tokyo　as　well　as　the　most　infamous　earthquake　of　1923。　But　as　hundreds　crowded　inside；　the　long；　arching　timbers；　so　lovingly　wrought　by　artisans　of　the　fabled　past；　caught　fire。　The　gray　slat　roof　which　had　been　such　a　staunch　landmark　for　hundreds　of　years　collapsed　inward；　crushing　the　already　burning　throng。　Outside；　the　ancient　stately　gingko　trees　of　the　surrounding　gardens　burst　into　crackling　torches；　pinwheels　of　sparks　arcing　into　the　howling　crimson　night；　running　along　street　gutters　like　voracious　predators。
　Asakusa；　like　the　rest　of　the　city；　bore　no　scars　from　that　time；　Nicholas　realized。　The　Japanese　had　been　very　careful　about　that。　In　this　downtown　area　of　Tokyo；　more　than　in　any　other　place　in　the　city；　perhaps；　the　ethos　of　Japan's　splendiferous　Edo　period　still　held　sway。
　Crowds　clouded　the　gates　of　Kaminarimon；　streaking　its　great　two…story　vermillion　face　with　their　darting　shadows。　A　scarlet　and　ebon　rice…paper　lantern　of　gigantic　proportions　swung　between　the　two　red…faced　wooden　statues　of　the　gods　of　wind　and　thunder；　the　bodyguards　of　Kannon；　who；　though　she　failed　her　people　once　in　the　incinerator　of　the　war；　was　worshiped　and　loved　still。
　Dodging　those　Japanese　on　the　run；　Nicholas　took　the　stone…paved　Nakamise…dori；　passing　sweet　and　souvenir　shops　piled　high　with　wares。
　On　impulse　he　turned　down　a　near　side　street；　strolling　slowly　through　the　relative　gloom。　He　stopped　abruptly　in　front　of　a　tiny　storefront　that　spelled　out　〃Yonoya〃　in　kanji。　Inside；　glass　shelves　were　lined　with　the　slightly　oily　boxwood　bs。
　Nicholas　remembered　Yukio　slowly；　rhythmically　stroking　her　hair　with　such　a　b。　How　soft　and　long　and　shining　were　those　tresses；　thick　and　lustrous。　Once　he　had　asked　her　if　all　Orientals　had　such　beautiful　hair　and　she　had　laughed；　embarrassed；　pushing　him　from　her。
　〃Only　the　ones　who　can　afford　these；〃　she　said；　still　laughing。　She　showed　him　the　exquisitely　hand…carved　implement。　〃Feel　it；〃　she　offered。
　〃Sticky；〃　he　said　immediately。
　〃But　guaranteed　never　to　tangle　your　hair；　Nicholas；〃　she　had
　said　in　her　singsong　voice。　〃This　boxwood　is　brought　all　the　way　from　Kyushu；　the　southern　island。　It　is　cut　and　steamed　to　remove　any　imperfections　and　then　dried　for　more　than　a　week　above　a　boxwood…shaving　fire。　Then　the　lengths　are　tied　together　and　bamboo　hoops　slipped　over　the　bundles；　and　they　are　left　to　dry　for　thirty　years　to　ensure　that　they　are　pletely　dry　before　being　carved。
　〃In　the　shop　in　Asakusa　where　I　buy　these；　their　craftsmen　have　studied　for　twenty　years。　They　sit　for　ten　or　twelve　hours　at　a　time；　immobile　except　for　their　working　hands；　to　shape　these　bs。〃　Nicholas　had　been　fascinated　then　just　as　he　was　fascinated　now。　Even　with　such　an　everyday　implement　as　a　b；　he　thought；　we　take　exceptional　care　and　artistry　in　its　manufacture。　Could　a　Westerner…any　Westerner…ever　fully　understand　the　reasons　why。　Or　would　they　think　us　mad　to　devote　such　time　and　intense　effort　to　such　a　small　and　seemingly　insignificant　matter。
　Again　on　impulse；　he　entered　the　shop　and　bought　a　b　for　Justine。　As　he　waited　for　the　saleswoman　to　reoil　the　boxwood；　carefully　wrap　it　in　three　separate　layers　of　high…grade　rice　paper；　and　then　place　it　into　its　hand…sanded　cedar　box；　his　eyes　traced　the　forms　of　the　bs　lying　in　artistic　display。　With　each　meticulously　rounded　corner；　with　each　matched　tooth　end；　he　again　saw　Yukio　in　front　of　the　mirror；　her　pale　hand　rising　and　falling　like　a　tide　through　the　river　of　her　dark　hair。　He　saw　that　ebon　cascade　highlighted　against　the　snow…white　kimono；　its　crimson　edges　moving　like　flowing　blood。
　He　leaned　forward　and；　hands　on　her　delicate　shoulders；　turned　her　around；　lifting　her　so　that　she　rose。　Soft　rustle　of　silk　like　the　bittersweet　drift　of　heavenly　cherry　petals　in　mid…April　when；　it　seemed；　the　ancient　gods　of　Japan　returned；　filling　the　scented　air　with　their　ethereal　presence。
　The　feel　of　her；　the　sight　of　her；　the　scent　of　her；　all　bined　to　transfix　him；　so　that　he　experienced　again　his　deep…seated　fear　of　what　she　brought　out　in　him：　the　intensity　of　sexual　feeling。　He　was　barely　eighteen；　it　was　1963。　He　had　had　no　experience　with　women；　especially　one　as　powerful　as　Yukio。
　It　was　as　if　she　held　him　in　a　tender　spell；　and　now　her　palm　came　up　to　stroke　his　cheek　and　he　shuddered　at　the　fiery　lick　the　caress　engendered　in　him。
　As　was　usual　with　them；　she　had　to　take　the　first　few　steps；　sliding　her　fingertips　back　along　her　own　body；　pushing　the　rim　of　the　kimono　away　from　her　shoulders。　It　parted　with　a　rustle；　revealing　the　inside　slopes　of　her　hard…nippled　breasts。　Nicholas'　breath　caught　in　his　throat　and　his　belly　contracted　painfully。
　With　a　slither　the　soft　white　kimono　slid　down　her　arms；　the　line　of　crimson　along　its　verge　flickering　like　flame。　And　now　she　was　bare；　the　light　striping　her；　throwing　into　deep　shadow　the　erotic　dells　of　her　torso；　hiding　as　it　revealed。
　Nicholas　felt　the　terror　filling　him　up　as；　like　a　sorceress；　she　moved；　freeing　his　own　sexuality；　drawing　out　his　own　ribboning　desire。　He　could　deny　her　nothing　at　moments　like　this。
　And　yet　there　was　a　deeply　buried　sadness　in　her　as　she　reached　between　his　thighs；　caught　gentle　hold　of　him；　stroking。
　〃Is　that　all　you　can　think　of？〃　he　said　thickly。
　〃It's　all　I　have；〃　she　said　in　a　moan；　guiding　him。
　Slowly　refocusing；　Nicholas'　gaze　lit　upon　the　empty　space　in　the　display　case　caused　by　the　present　he　had　bought　Justine。　Yukio　was　gone　just　as　the　boxwood　b　was　gone　from　the　case。
　The　spotlights'　glare　was　harder　in　just　that　spot；　magnifying　the　nothingness。　He　wondered　what　had　ever　bee　of　Yukio's　magical　boxwood　b。　Had　Saigo　hurled　it　after　her　into　the　Straits　of　Shimonoseki？　Had　she　been　wearing　it　when　he　clubbed　her；　stunning　her；　then　binding　her　for　the　long　rowboat　ride　across　those　haunted　waters？　Or　had　some　small　child　found　the　artifact　among　her　abandoned　belongings　and　was　wearing　it　today？
　Nicholas　found　that　his　eyes　were　full　of　tears。　Despite　his　vow　never　to　relive　the　moment　when　his　evil　cousin　had　told　him　of　Yukio's　death；　he　had　done　it。　His　heart　was　breaking　anew；　he　felt　her　loss　as　keenly　this　moment　as　he　had　a　year　ago。　Perhaps　this　was　one　wound　that　time　would　never　heal。
　Blindly　he　received　the　exquisitely　wrapped　package；　signed　the　American　Express　receipt。　It　was　as　if　Yukio's　kami　had　appeared　at　his　side；　linking　arms　with　him；　and；　standing　by　his　side；　was　now　looking　down　at　the　display　of　boxwood　bs　with　him。
　And　for　that　moment　it　was　as　if　death　had　been　banished　from　the　world　of　man；　as　if　there　was　no　dark　barrier　between　life　and　death；　the　unknown　being　suddenly　known　and　accepted。　Did　he　walk　with　the　dead；　or　had　Yukio　crossed　over　to　live　again　at　his　side？
　With　a　start；　Nicholas　found　himself　alone　again　in　the　shop。　The　saleswoman　was　looking　at　him　oddly；　not　certain　whether　to　smile　or　frown　at　the　peculiar　expression　on　his　face。
　Back　on　the　Nakamise…d