Rather than allow Chamberlain Yanagisawa to escape punishment by subverting the legal system he controls, I have appointed myself the agent of justice. I have executed Chamberlain Yanagisawa, and committed seppuku not only to avoid capture and disgrace, but to pledge my eternal loyalty to your person, and to honor a promise to my father that I make of myself the living embodiment of Bushido.
I hope history will remember me as the member of my clan who freed the Tokugawa regime from Chamberlain Yanagisawa’s corrupting influence and restored Your Excellency as rightful ruler of the land.
Your humble servant, Sōsakan Sano Ichirō.
Sano stamped the letter with his personal seal, then enclosed the scroll inside the fine lacquer case and paid for his purchases. Outside in the street, he gave Matsui’s bamboo scroll case to Hirata.
“Pay a messenger to deliver this immediately,” he said, handing over the necessary coins. “I’ll see that Chūgo and Yanagisawa get theirs.” Then, with a heavy spirit, he gave Hirata the lacquer case. “If all goes… as expected tomorrow, give this to the authorities.” He mounted his horse. “I’ll meet you at the boat at daybreak.”
“Yes, sōsakan-sama.” Hirata cleared his throat. “Sumimasen… after the messages are delivered, would you please be my guest at dinner?”
Sano was touched by the offer. Hirata, kind as well as loyal, didn’t want to leave his new master alone to dwell upon death, or let what might be the last night of his life pass without ritual.
“Thank you, Hirata-san,” he said with sincere regret, “but I’ve urgent personal business to attend to.”
In Hirata’s eyes he saw understanding and sympathy. The young doshin, his fellow samurai, knew exactly what that business was.
Chapter 33
When a samurai planned to commit ritual suicide, custom required him to bid farewell to the important people in his life and express gratitude for the services they’d done him, the kindnesses they’d shown him, and the privilege of associating with them.
Sano found Dr. Ito in the Edo Jail guard compound, practicing the medical skills he’d acquired before being sentenced to lifelong service as morgue custodian. There grim, dingy barracks formed a second enclosure within the jail’s towering walls. Outside the barracks, a prison guard sat on a stool, with Dr. Ito bending over him. As Sano approached, Ito pulled down the man’s lower lip, revealing a huge, ugly blood blister surrounded by pus-engorged flesh. Upon this Ito placed a shiny brown leech. The patient winced and closed his eyes as the leech sucked the poisoned blood.
“Sano-san! What a pleasant surprise.” Dr. Ito’s stern features relaxed in a smile as he looked up. “I presumed you had received my messages about finding no clues on the murder victims’ remains, and so would have no reason to visit soon.” Then his expression altered to concern when he saw Sano’s face. “Something is wrong?”
For the first time, Sano felt awkward with his confidant and mentor. “I have to talk to you,” he blurted.
“Of course. One moment.”
Ito turned back to his patient. He waited until the leech swelled to twice its original size, and the blister had shrunk. Then he plucked the leech off the patient’s lip and sealed it inside a small ceramic jar attached to his sash.
“Rinse your mouth with saltwater every hour to prevent further festering,” he told the guard. He handed over a paper packet. “Drink this turmeric in your tea tonight, for the pain and swelling. You’ll feel much better by tomorrow.”
“Thank you, Ito-san,” the patient mumbled.
Then, apparently recognizing Sano’s need for privacy, Ito said, “Come. Let’s go to my quarters.”
They left the compound and entered a passage, where Sano stopped. He didn’t want to cut short what might be their last meeting, but he must get this ordeal over with before he lost his resolve.
“I can’t stay,” he said abruptly. “I-I just want to thank you, Ito-san. For everything you’ve done for me.”
Ignoring his friend’s puzzled frown, Sano rushed on. “Your wisdom and support have guided me through times of trouble. Your courage, dedication, and integrity have been a source of inspiration to me.” Used to expressing respect with formal rituals of bowing, gift-giving, and other oblique gestures, he found this blunt speaking unbearably gauche and melodramatic. But he forced himself to continue. “It’s been an honor and a privilege to associate with you.”
He bowed deeply, as if to a superior rather than the commoner and criminal that Ito was. “Now I-I must say good-bye,” he ended in a breathless fever of shyness, embarrassment, and grief.
“ ‘Good-bye’?” Though he shook his head in confusion, Dr. Ito obviously recognized this as no ordinary parting. “Sano-san, what is the meaning of this?”
Sano compressed his lips against the outpouring of terror that threatened to spill from them: I don’t want to die! Please, save me! If Ito offered any sympathy, he was lost. He longed to flee. But an explanation was the least he owed his friend. With frequent pauses to control his emotions, he related his plan, and its probable outcome. “I may die tomorrow, Ito-san. That’s why I came to say good-bye, and say-what needed saying.”
The lines in Dr. Ito’s face deepened. His penetrating gaze lost its edge; his eyes were dark with shock. “But why must you even consider doing this-this thing?” he demanded.
“I promised my father I would exemplify Bushido and perform a heroic deed that would secure our family a place of honor in history,” Sano recited woodenly. “When I began this investigation, I promised myself that I would deliver a killer to justice and save lives. Chamberlain Yanagisawa is corrupt, evil. If he’s also the Bundori Killer-as I believe he is-then destroying him, ridding the regime of his influence, and taking my own life will satisfy all my aims.”
Dr. Ito opened his mouth and closed it again. He raised his arms, then let them fall. For once he seemed at a loss for wisdom. Then he drew a deep breath and said, “Forgive me, Sano-san. Out of respect for you and your class, I would never say this under any other circumstances. But your Bushido is a cruel, destructive code. Can you not see that it carries honor, duty, loyalty, and filial piety to the extreme? Why, indeed, its ultimate expression is the annihilation of the self-of the very life force that harbors those virtues!”
He leaned closer, exerting upon Sano the whole force of his compelling personality. “Listen. When I became a physician, I dedicated myself to healing, to the preservation of life. Because life is precious; it makes all things possible. While you’re alive, you have the potential to accomplish many miracles. All of these may well add up to more than this one final act you are contemplating. But if you kill yourself, then what?
“Your name in history books-an empty reward. Man has a short memory; yesterday’s heroes are soon forgotten. Your body will be ashes in the wind; your soul will never live again-unless through rebirth, the occurrence of which I have seen no scientific proof. Please, Sano-san Reconsider!”
Sano turned away from the argument that called to the questioning, rebellious part of his nature. “Bushido is absolute,” he said, although he could see the truth in Dr. Ito’s impassioned plea. “I can’t repudiate it and still call myself a samurai. A promise is a promise; duty is duty.”