el.the miko-第68部分

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hedule；　he　returned　to　the　Yoshiwara。
　On　the　threshold　of　the　pale　green　and　caramel　structure　he　paused；　trembling。　Rain　pattered　on　the　conical　shelter　of　his　ama…gasa　and　he　looked　up；　watching　it　drip　off　the　eaves　just　beneath　the　curved　tiles　of　the　roof。　As　the　samurai　in　olden　days　had　done　he　had　disguised　himself　somewhat　before　setting　out　on　his　trek　to　the　red…light　district。
　It　was　not　that　he　was　ashamed　of　ing　here　or　that　he　wished　to　hide　his　presence　at　Fuyajo　from　his　wife。　On　the　contrary；　it　was　to　her　that　the　Castle　That　Knows　No　Night　sent　the　bills　for　his　sojourns　of　pleasure。
　Rather　it　was　the　unsettling　political　and　economic　climate　within　the　bureaucracy　that　caused　him　to　act　with　caution。　As　vice…minister　of　MCI　he　had　many　enemies　and　he　had　no　wish　to　present　his　ill…wishers　with　fodder　for　his　political　demise。
　A　chill　gust　of　wind　bowled　down　the　street；　making　him　shiver　and　pull　his　long　capelike　raincoat　closer　about　him。　That　SCAP　hound；　Colonel　Linnear；　was　already　sniffing　around　for　incriminating　bones　and　though　Shimada　was　quite　certain　he　had　buried　his　deeply　and　well；　he　nevertheless　refused　to　relax　his　vigilance；　for　he　knew　that　in　the　wake　of　the　war's　end　he　could　not　rely　on　his　Prime　Minister　for　refuge　if　the　truth　were　to　e　out。　In　fact；　knowing　Yoshida；　he　would　be　among　the　first　to　deliver　Shimada　up　as　a　sacrificial　lamb　to　the　gaijin　war　crimes　tribunal。
　War。　The　thought　made　Shimada　shiver。　Always　it　came　back　to　the　war。　How　he　wished　now　that　Japan　had　taken　another　course。　In　retrospect；　he　saw　his　own　rabid　ideas　of　expansionism；　his　close　ties　to　those　warmongers　in　the　zaibatsu　as　tantamount　to　slashing　open　his　own　belly。　And　yet　there　was　no　dignity　in　the　association。　His　hands　were　soiled　by　the　clandestine　work　he　had　done　for　his　friends　in　the　zaibatsu　both　before　the　war　and　during　it。　Shimada　had　been　a　key　figure　within　the　Ministry　of　Munitions　and　had　been　saved　from　the　war　crimes　tribunal　by　a　mixture　of　his　own　cunning　in　hiding　his　past　and　the　decision　of　his　superior　to　break　apart　the　ministry　at　the　last　moment；　turning　it　into　the　Ministry　of　merce　and　Industry　before　SCAP　had　set　itself　up　and　begun　its　own　purge。
　Shimada　looked　down　at　his　hands。　His　palms　were　slick　with　sweat。　He　took　a　deep　breath；　calming　himself。　He　resolved　to　stop　by　the　Shinto　shrine　on　his　way　home　and　petition　the　gods　and　kami　for　the　gift　of　confidence　and　the　blessing　of　forgetful…ness。　If　not　for　the　gaijin　Linnear；　all　would　be　peaceful；　he　knew。
　Abruptly；　the　door　to　Fuyajo　opened　and　cool　illumination　flooded　over　him　like　a　spotlight。　Shimada　hurried　inside。
　At　first　he　wanted　nothing　more　from　her　than　for　her　to　serve　him　tea。　The　plex　ritual　of　chano…yu　was　as　soothing　as　a　massage　or　a　soak　in　a　steaming　tub。
　Watching　Ikan　perform　the　ceremony　just　for　him　caused　all　the　problems；　fears；　and　doubts　that　snapped　at　his　heels　in　the　world　beyond　the　happy　field　to　dissolve　like　tears　in　a　pool。　In　their　stead　he　found　himself　filling　up　with　a　delicious　contentment；　a　clarity　of　mind　he　had　thought　he　could　never　achieve。
　And　because　every　movement　Ikan　made　no　matter　how　minute　or　trivial…turning　a　teacup　or　touching　a　wisp　of　her　hair…was　the　epitome　of　grace　and　fluidity；　he　found　his　enjoyment　multiplying　geometrically　as　he　unraveled　each　layer　of　meaning　from　what　she　did　or　spoke。　For　her　words　were　never　trivial　or　mundane。　She　made　no　small　talk。　Rather；　each　question　she　asked　or　each　answer　she　gave　to　his　questions　were　both　fascinating　and　eloquent。
　In　the　world　beyond　Fuyajo　memories　transformed　Shimada　like　a　growing　cancer　into　a　man　old　beyond　his　years。　But　here；　Ikan　had　the　ability　to　banish　that　haunted　quality　of　his　life　and；　like　a　serpent　shedding　its　skin；　he　was　reborn　in　her　presence　as　he　was　enchanted　by　her　awesome　ethereal　prowess。
　For　her　part；　Ikan　never　saw　the　man　that　Shimada　was　in　the　outside　world　for　with　her　he　had　no　need　of　scheming；　he　had　no　need　of　fiercely　keeping　his　enemies　at　bay。　She　saw；　rather；　the　man　he　might　have　been　in　another　time；　another　place。
　He　was　gentle　with　her；　and　warmhearted。　And　his　obvious　delight　at　all　she　did　warmed　her。　She　recognized　in　him　a　deep　need　to　be　nurtured　and　loved；　and　since　it　was　her　belief　that　all　men　were　at　their　core　nothing　more　than　infants；　she　felt　no　need　to　probe　too　deeply　into　the　source　of　this　need。
　But；　it　must　be　said　that　another　factor　entered　into　this　self…deceit。　Ikan　knew　there　was　something　special　about　Shimada　when　on　his　second　visit　he　brought　her　a　set　of　old　traditional　kanzashi　made　of　tsuge　wood　in　a　similar　design　as　her　kushi。　Now　she　had　a　plete　set　for　her　hair。
　Her　manner　was　calm；　her　smile　sweet；　small；　and　proper；　her　eyes　properly　downcast；　her　murmur　of　thanks　soft　and　brief　as　he　presented　her　with　the　magnificent　gift。　But　inside　her　heart　was　pounding　and　she　could　feel　her　blood　singing　through　her　veins。　This　was　a　pletely　new　feeling　for　her　and　she　was　inwardly　bewildered。
　But　later　than　night；　when　she　lay　entwined　with　him　on　the　lushly　fabricked　futon；　as　their　sweat　mingled；　as　she　felt　the　double…beat　pulse　of　his　heart　close　to　hers；　as　he　gently　entered　her　after　the　careful　and　delightful　hours　of　sensuous　preparations；　Ikan　knew　what　that　feeling　was。　She　was　in　love。
　The　decision　to　have　the　baby　was　entirely　hers。　It　was　her　privilege　as　tayu…at　least　that　was　the　custom　established　years　ago　by　those　who　ran　Fuyajo。　The　decision　had　been　an　entirely　pragmatic　one。　Like　champion　racehorses　who　are　put　out　to　stud；　it　was　felt　that　many　of　the　tayu's　unique　qualities　were　innate；　needing　only　the　proper　training　to　emerge　and　be　enhanced。
　But　this　usually　happened　somewhat　further　on　in　a　tayu's　career　because　there　was　fear　of　markings　or　disfigurement　from　the　rigors　of　childbirth　as　well　as　the　months　of　enforced　idleness　and　thus　lost　revenue　to　think　of。　However；　Ikan　was　of　such　stellar　quality　that　the　greed　of　those　who　ran　Fuyajo　eventually　overcame　their　initial　doubts。
　Ikan　was　certain　that　she　wanted　to　bear　Shimada's　child。　Already　he　insisted　that　she　see　no　one　else　and　paid　for　the　privilege　of　her　exclusivity　through　the　nose。　He　did　not　care；　although　what　his　wife　thought　of　the　increasing　level　of　the　bills　was　quite　another　matter。
　But　Shimada's　wife　was　someone　Ikan　never　thought　of。　Why　should　she？　That　woman　was　part　of　another　world；　a　world　in　which　Ikan　could　never　participate。　What　use　such　thoughts？　Too；　she　was　acutely　aware　of　how　she　affected　Shimada；　and　she　suspected　that　after　the　birth　of　their　son…for　she　had　no　doubts　that　she　would　bear　him　a　son…his　elation　would　be　so　extraordinary　that　he　would　grant　her　any　wish。　And　she　had　only　one：　to　bee　his　mistress。　He　would　have　to　buy　her　freedom；　of　course；　but　he　could　well　afford　the　price。
　It　never　occurred　to　Ikan　that　she　would　bear　a　daughter　who　would　bind　her　to　Fuyajo　forever；　and　who　would　herself　be　bound　to　the　Castle　That　Knows　No　Night。
　And　yet　it　was　a　female　child　to　which　she　gave　birth；　a　squalling；　hairless　infant　with　nothing　between　its　legs　but　a　slit。
　For　three　days　Ikan　wept　on　her　futon；　her　dreams　of　a　glorious　future　destroyed　in　an　instant。　She　saw　no　one；　spoke　to　no　one；　ignored　all　the　notes　sent　up　to　her　by　a　worried　Shimada。　These　last　she　burned　instantly　as　if　by　handling　them　she　could　be　contaminated。
　During　this　time　she　did　not　sleep。　Rather；　she　lay　curled　on　her　left　side；　her　face　to　the　wall。　Her　shame　was　overwhelming；　and　her　face　burned　with　it。　At　first　her　hatred　for　her　daughter　was　overwhelming；　so　powerful　that　she　shuddered　to　its　bitter　taste　in　her　mouth。　And　this；　too；　caused　her　to　decline　all　food；　wanting　perversely　to　subsist　wholly　on　her　hate。
　But　by　the　middle　of　the　second　day；　she　found　that　she　could　no　longer　sustain　such　a　harsh　and　cruel　emotion。　It　went　against　all　her　training　and；　after　all；　the　child　was　so　helpless　and　alone。
　She　was　weeping　again；　hot；　bitter　tears　that　swept　down　her　cheeks；　depleting　her　strength。　For　she　began　to　understand…as　one　begins　to　see　a　red；　swollen　sun　appear　after　a　long；　debilitating　storm…that　her　hatred　was　for　herself。　A　terrible　despair　began　to　engulf　her；　and　with　that　awful　feeling　rose　the　shame；　a　black；　baleful　raven　in　her　tortured　mind。
　Oh；　how　her　love　had　warped　her；　how　her　own　selfish　desires　had　driven　her　to　this　shameful　reality。　For　in　her　egotism　she　had　been　confident　of　bearing　a　male　child…had　she　not　spent　two　hours　every　day　at　the　Shinto　shrine　two　blocks　away；　propitiating　the　gods；　seeking　their　aid？…and　had　thrust　to　the　dark　back　recesses　of　her　mind　the　consequences　of　bearing　a　daughter。　For　all　female　offspring　of　tayu　became　the　property　of　Fuyajo；　to　train　when　they　came　of　age　to　replace　their　mothers　as　new　oiran　and；　if　the　gods　favored　them；　eventually　tayu。
　She　spent　all　of　the　third　day　contemplating　this；　taking　a　little　food　now　when　it　was　offered　to　her　but　still　wanting　to　see　no　one。　And　at　the　end　of　that　time；　after　she　had　lit　incense　and　prayed　to　the　Amida　Buddha　for　guidance；　she　asked　to　see　her　baby。
　〃There　is　no　name　as　yet　for　this　little　one；　lady；〃　the　old　woman　who　cooked　for　them　and　took　care　of　them　when　they　were　ill　said　as　she　transferred　the　tiny　bundle　into　Ikan's　trembling　arms。　〃It　is　bad　luck；〃　she　added　needlessly。
　Dean　dropped　her　gaze　to　the　tiny　face　of　her　daughter；　still　wrinkly　and　red　skinned。
　〃Reiko；　one　of　the　kamuro　who　failed　her　examination；　has　been　nursing　her；〃　the　old　woman　said　softly　as　she　gazed　up　into　the　troubled　face　of　her　lady。　〃This　is　a　hungry　little　one。〃　The　old　woman　giggled；　hoping　to　break　through　the　oppressive　atmosphere　she　had　sensed　when　she　entered　this　chamber。
　Dean　nodded　absently。　It　did　not　really　matter　who　nursed　the　baby；　she　would　not　be　allowed　to。
　〃I　have　lit　many　sticks　of　incense；〃　the　old　woman　went　on。　〃I　have　done　what　I　could　to　protect　this　innocent　from　bad　karma。　But；　lady；　forgive　me；　she　must　have　a　name。〃
　Ikan　heard；　but　it　was　impossible　to　say　what　was　going　on　in　her　mind。　She　felt　enwrapped