“As you have pointed out, the guilty parties are all dead,” Yanagisawa said. “Further punishment… ” He spread his hands in an eloquent gesture, his meaning obvious. Further punishment would satisfy the law, but not the government’s need for secrecy or the country’s need for order and peace.
Sano’s poultices had numbed his pain; the drugged tea was making him drowsy. His eyelids drooped as the shogun and the elders agreed to Yanagisawa’s plan and discussed the particulars of carrying it out. He snapped awake when the shogun spoke his name.
“Sano-san, forgive us for keeping you so long. You are tired. But it will only take a moment more to settle the matter of your reward.”
With difficulty, Sano roused himself.
“In return for the valuable service you have rendered me, I will grant you a favor of your choosing,” Tokugawa Tsunayoshi said.
Sano was overwhelmed by the enormity of this unexpected gift. “Thank you, Your Excellency,” he stammered. But how to make the right choice? Finally he settled on the one that would eliminate his most recent source of guilt. “I ask that the courtesan Wisteria be freed from the pleasure quarter and given enough money to live as an independent citizen.”
The shogun leaned forward, a thoughtful frown on his face. “Very well. But surely this is too trivial a favor. Ask another.”
Emboldened, Sano said, “I ask that a monument commemorating the death of my secretary, Hamada Tsunehiko, in the line of duty, be erected in his family burial plot.” The shogun’s recognition would go far toward comforting the boy’s family, and some way toward fulfilling his own need to make reparation to them. “And that Niu Midori be released from the nunnery at the Temple of Kannon and brought home to Edo.”
“He asks nothing for himself,” the shogun said to the others in surprised admiration. “Only for others.” Turning to Sano, he said, “The things you ask will be done. But in recognition of your selfless generosity, I shall further reward you as I see fit.”
Now Sano entered the gate to his neighborhood. As he crossed the canal, he looked at the splendid black steed that Tokugawa Tsunayoshi had given him to replace Wada-san’s dead one. Its saddlebags bulged with New Year gifts-fine lacquerware and ceramics and silver, beautifully wrapped parcels of mochi and tangerines-for his family and friends. He looked down at himself. The rich padded cloak and silk robes he wore came from the shogun’s own wardrobe; all bore the Tokugawa crest. He touched the magnificent swords his grateful benefactor had given him: the finest work of the master swordmaker, Yoshimitsu. He felt the weight of the pouch containing ten gold pieces-an advance on the real reward that he would collect after his visit home. All the finery seemed as if it belonged to someone else, that stranger he’d become. And he couldn’t bear to think of the real reward just yet.
In front of his parents’ house, Sano dismounted. He’d no sooner led the horse through the gate when the door opened. There stood his father, frail and stooping and looking more ill than ever. With one hand he supported himself against the door frame; in the other, he held the letter Sano had sent by way of the priest. His sunken eyes reflected a mixture of hope, uncertainty, suspicion, fear, and helpless love.
Guilt tore at Sano’s heart. Whatever he’d accomplished last night, he would never forgive himself for inflicting such pain on his father. He started to speak, but his throat closed. Tears of shame stung his eyes.
“Ichirō.” His father extended the hand that held the letter, then dropped it as if unsure whether to invite Sano inside or bar the door. A cough wracked his body. Recovering, he said, “Are you home to stay?” The tentative query encompassed myriad other unspoken ones.
Sano cleared his throat. “Otōsan,” he said, bowing, “I’ve returned home for the holiday only. The shogun has appointed me his special investigator. When I leave here, I shall take up residence in the castle and begin my work-at ten times my former salary.” There: he’d said it aloud. Telling someone gave the reward a reality it had lacked when the shogun had bestowed it and he’d accepted. The acknowledgment filled him with a formless dread that left no room for pleasure.”If you let me inside, I’ll explain.”
His father frowned in disbelief. Then his eyes, which hadn’t left Sano’s face, moved to the horse, the clothes, the swords. He paled, and the arm that supported him began to shake. He started to fall.
“Otōsan!”
Dropping the reins, Sano hurried forward and caught him. At the same time, his mother appeared in the doorway. Her joyful greeting turned to an exclamation of dismay when she saw her husband’s ashen face. With her help, Sano got the old man into the house and settled under warm quilts beside the charcoal brazier. Then he went back outside to stable the horse.
“Ichirō-chan, we were so worried, what happened to you?” his mother cried when he returned. “Where have you been?” She gazed in awe at Sano’s clothes and swords, and at the treasure -laden saddlebags that he held. “What can be the meaning of this?”
Sano knelt before his parents. Tokugawa Tsunayoshi had given him permission to tell them the truth. After swearing them to secrecy, he did. “If anyone asks, you must say only that the shogun promoted me because of a service I did him while I was a yoriki,” he added when he’d finished. That was the story that Yanagisawa and the elders had concocted. How neatly they’d secured his complicity in the deception.
His mother reacted to the news with delight. “Oh, Ichirō-chan, you are a hero! And what a wonderful reward for your courage!” Eyes teary, she beamed at him.”Everything has turned out for the best.”
Sano wished he could share her belief. He feared, without being able to say exactly why, that his new appointment would prove to be as much a punishment as a reward. Trying to push these disturbing thoughts away, he managed a smile for his mother. Then he turned to his father.
The old man only nodded and said, “You have brought honor to our family name, my son.” But he sat straighter, visibly gaining color, strength, and vitality.
Laughing, Sano’s mother rose. “With all this excitement, I’ve forgotten all about our meal!” She hurried out to the kitchen.
During their New Year’s Day feast, Sano made himself eat to please his mother. Pain and fatigue robbed him of desire for the red beans and cold soup, the sweet spiced wine and other holiday treats, although he took great satisfaction from seeing his father eat with an unusually good appetite that presaged an eventual return to health. All he wanted was to be alone, so that he could begin to make sense of all that had happened to him since he’d first heard of the shinjū. He wanted to ponder the meaning of his alarming change of fortune, to understand the emotions now starting to surface through his initial shock and numbness.
Finally the long meal ended. Sano rose, bowing to his parents. “I must go to Wada-san’s house and give him his new horse,” he explained. Taking along parcels of mochi and tangerines to distribute among his neighbors, he escaped into the quiet streets.
He delivered the horse to Wada-san, who accepted it with awe and made him stay and celebrate his promotion with a drink. He called on his neighbors, but did no more than wish them a pleasant New Year. News traveled fast; they would know of his dubious luck soon enough. Afterward, he wandered through the streets on foot, carrying his one remaining gift parcel, his thoughts in a turmoil. Mulling over the events that had brought him to this moment, he wondered what he could have done differently. Could he have prevented a great tragedy without causing the lesser ones? Did his ultimate victory outweigh his many defeats? And why did he dread beginning his new servitude?