In the past, my feelings for a woman would always cool after I made love to her. Familiarity would set in. I would have my fill of her and seek excitement elsewhere. But that didn’t happen with Tekare. She was always as much a mystery as when we’d first met. The day after the wedding ritual, she was again shy, aloof. I had to begin courting her all over again, plying her with more gifts, more love poetry. At last she relented, smiled, and welcomed me into her chamber. This happened many times. I was always uncertain of her feelings for me, always her suitor rather than her lord. My love and need for her only increased.
And no matter how often we coupled, I could never get enough of Tekare. We always began with the wine and the pipe filled with native herbs, but each time brought some new, thrilling ritual. One night she tied me up and whipped me with a flail made of willow boughs. Another night she inserted fishhooks in my nipples and pulled on cords attached to them. She taught me that pain intensifies sexual excitement. As I bled and cried, my release was pure ecstasy. I learned the pleasure of submitting to my beloved.
I can think of nothing except Tekare. When I’m not with her, I day-dream about her. The wine and smoke leave me in a constant stupor. When I should be working, instead I paint pictures of myself and Tekare together. I hardly listen to what anyone says to me, because her voice is inside my head, chanting her love spells. I neglect my duties, my appearance, and my health while I live in a dream-world. This obsession is not normal. But how can something that feels so wonderful be wrong? I am truly in love for the first time in my life. Everything I do with her seems sacred. As long as Tekare is mine, I will be content.
Exactly when did I begin to fear that I will lose her? I do not remember. I only know that the fear tortures me. I notice how other men look at Tekare. Does she smile at them? Do their eyes hold a moment too long? I am so dazed, my body and mind so weakened, that I cannot trust my impressions.
Sometimes Tekare says she does not feel well and needs to rest alone. One night, consumed by suspicion, I hid outside her window. I heard her voice and a man’s, whispering. I saw shadows moving together. Agony twisted my heart. Eventually the light in the window went out. A door opened. Onto the veranda stepped one of my soldiers, a young, handsome fellow. He strolled away in the darkness, whistling to himself.
Later I confronted Tekare. I accused her of being unfaithful to me. She denied it, said I’d imagined what I’d seen. And perhaps I did, for I can hardly distinguish between dreams and reality. I must believe that Tekare is true to me.
My worst fears have been realized. Last night, after Tekare and I made love, I fell into a deep slumber. I was awakened hours later by cries and moans. The scallop-shell lamps were burning. In the light of the dancing flames, I saw Tekare and the young soldier. They were naked. She had her back against the wall, her legs around his waist, while he plunged into her. They dared to couple right in front of me, as if I were not there!
I tried to protest. I tried to rise and stop them. But I could neither move nor make a sound. My gaze caught Tekare’s. She smiled. She smiled at me as I lay helpless and horrified and she made love with another man!
This time, when I told Tekare what I’d seen, she didn’t deny it. She laughed. All her sweetness disappeared. She turned into a cruel stranger. She said that if she wanted another man, she would have him, and she didn’t care if I was jealous.
I raged at her. I lifted my hand to strike her, but she pushed me away, and I was so weak that I fell. I called her ungrateful. I told her she wouldn’t get any more gifts from me. She said she wouldn’t give me any more fun.
Fun! That is what she called our sacred lovemaking!
I threatened to put to death any man she dallied with. She said that by the time I was done, I would have no retainers left. I threatened to send her back to her tribe unless she behaved herself. But she said that if I did, I would never see her again. And I know that my threats are no good. I am at her mercy.
What am I to do? I now fear and revile Tekare as much as I love her. She has cast over me an evil spell that has reduced me to a pathetic shadow of myself I must break free of her, but how?
After much thought, I have realized that I must destroy her before she completely destroys me. At night I lie awake, plotting her death. If I take my sword to her, she will overpower me before I can strike her down. Perhaps I can cut her throat while she sleeps. But I cannot bear to watch her die. I must attack her on the sly, when she least expects it, when she cannot stop me. Perhaps I should poison her food. Or set a spring-bow trap along a path she walks. But whatever I do, it must be soon, while I still have a chance for salvation. May the gods give me the will to act!
As Sano deciphered the final passage in the diary, he experienced such shock that he barely noticed the snow falling through the window onto his sleeve, the stench inside the privy shed, or the fact that his hands were frozen stiff. But he had no time to ponder the significance of what he’d read, because there came a loud banging on the door.
“Honorable Chamberlain, what’s taking you so long?” said Gizaemon. “Come out, or I’ll break the door down.”
19
Reiko awakened suddenly from a thick, dark sleep induced by the strong wine that Lilac had given her. She felt someone in the room with her, sat up, and saw Wente, the Ezo woman, crouched near her.
“How did you get in here?” she said.
Wente put a finger to her lips. She beckoned Reiko.
“What-?”
“Hurry!” Wente whispered, sidling out of the room.
“Wait a moment.” Reiko ran to the cabinet and dragged out her futon. Wente helped her arrange quilts on it so that if someone looked in on her, it would look like she was taking a nap. They tiptoed down the corridor and out the door. Snow was falling heavily, mounding the castle’s walls, turrets, and roofs, coating the trees. Not a single distinct edge existed in this new white landscape. Not a soul did Reiko see.
“Where are the guards?” she asked.
“Sick,” Wente said.
Reiko surmised that disease had befallen the men, who’d left their posts. Her depression evaporated like fog dispelled by a radiant dawn. Now Wente could take her to rescue Masahiro.
They hastened toward the keep, its white shaft almost lost against the white, dissolving sky. The snow quickly coated their garments, camouflaging them. The route looked so different that Reiko didn’t recognize it. She was glad to have Wente guiding her, and Wente might be able to help her in more ways than this.
“Did you know the woman who was killed with a spring-bow?” Reiko asked.
Wente’s head snapped around toward her. Fear flashed across her tattooed face. Walking faster, ahead of Reiko, she muttered something in Ezo language.
“What did you say?” Reiko hurried to catch up.
“Sister,” Wente said, her voice slurred, her face distorted by grief. Snowflakes melted in the tears that wet her cheeks.
“Tekare was your sister? I didn’t know. I’m sorry.” Reiko didn’t like to upset her friend by talking about the murder, but Wente was the only person she’d met here, except for Lilac, who’d been willing to help her. And Reiko trusted Wente more than she did the servant girl.
“Do you have any idea who killed Tekare?” Reiko asked.
Wente shook her head so hard that her fur-lined hood slipped off. She pulled it up, shoulders hunched, as they tramped through a courtyard. She uttered a phrase in her own language, then said, “It was mistake.”