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told the story of someone else who had done it.
I was thinking about that night and how I had swum beneath the surface of the
river when I heard footsteps approaching along the bank: the ground was soft
and damp and the footfall was muffled, but whoever it was was quite close. I
should have left then but I was curious to see who would come to the river at
this time of night, and I knew he would not see me.
He was a man of less than average height and very slight; in the darkness I
could make out nothing else. He looked around furtively and then knelt at the
water's edge as if he were praying. The wind blew off the river, bringing the
tang of water and mud, and along with it the man's own smell.
His scent was somehow familiar. I sniffed the air like a dog, trying to place
it. After a moment or two it came to me: It was the smell of the tannery. This
man must be a leather worker, therefore an outcast. I knew then who he was:
the man who had spoken to me after I had climbed into the castle. His brother
had been one of the tortured Hidden to whom I had brought the release of
death. I had used my second self on the riverbank, and this man had thought he
had seen an angel and had spread the rumor of the Angel of Yamagata. I could
guess why he was there praying. He must also be from the Hidden, maybe hoping
to see the angel again. I remembered how the first time I saw him I had
thought I had to kill him, but I had not been able to bring myself to do so. I
gazed on him now with the troubled affection you have for someone whose life
you have spared.
I felt something else, too; a pang of loss and regret for the certainties of
my childhood, for the words and rituals that had comforted me then, seeming as
eternal as the turn of the seasons and the passage of the moon and the stars
in the sky. I had been plucked from my life among the Hidden when Shigeru had
saved me at Mino. Since then I had kept my origins concealed, never speaking
of them to anyone, never praying openly. But sometimes at night I still prayed
after the manner of the faith I was raised in, to the Secret God that my
mother worshipped, and now I felt a yearning to approach this man and talk to
him.
As an Otori lord, even as a member of the Tribe, I should have shunned a
leather worker, for they slaughter animals and are considered unclean, but the
Hidden believe all men are created equal by the Secret God, and so I had been
taught by my mother. Still, some vestige of caution kept me out of sight
beneath the willow, though as I heard his whispered prayer I found my tongue
repeating the words along with him.
I would have left it like thatùI was not a complete fool, even though that
night I was behaving like oneùif I had not caught the sound of men approaching
over the nearest bridge. It was a patrol of some sort, probably Arai's men,
though I had no way of knowing for sure. They must have stopped on the bridge
and gazed down the river. ôThere's that lunatic,ö I heard one say. ôMakes me
sick having to see him there night after night.ö His accent was local, but the
next man who spoke sounded as if he came from the West. ôGive him a beating,
he'll soon give up coming.ö
ôWe've done that. Makes no difference.ö
ôComes back for more, does he?ö
ôLet's lock him up for a few nights.ö
ôLet's just chuck him in the river.ö
They laughed. I heard their footsteps grow louder as they began to run, and
then fade a little as they passed behind a row of houses. They were still some
way off; the man on the bank had heard nothing. I was not going to stand by
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and watch while the guards threw my man into the river. My man: He already
belonged to me.
I slipped out from beneath the branches of the willow and ran toward him. I
tapped him on the shoulder and, when he turned, I hissed at him, ôCome, hide
quickly !ö
He recognized me at once and, with a great gasp of amazement, threw himself at
my feet, praying incoherently. In the distance I could hear the patrol
approaching down the street that ran along the river. I shook the man, lifted
his head, put my finger to my lips, and, trying to remember not to look him in
the eye, pulled him into the shelter of the willows.
I should leave him here, I thought. I can go invisible and avoid the patrol.
But then I heard them tramping round the corner and realized I was too late.
The breeze ruffled the water and set the willow leaves quivering. In the
distance a cock crowed, a temple bell sounded.
ôGone!ö a voice exclaimed, not ten paces from us.
Another man swore, ôFilthy outcasts.ö
ôWhich is worse, do you reckon, outcasts or Hidden?ö
ôSome are both! That's the worst.ö
I heard the slicing sigh of a sword being drawn. One of the soldiers slashed
at a clump of reeds and then at the willow itself. The man next to me tensed.
He was trembling but he made no sound. The smell of tanned leather was so
strong in my nostrils, I was sure the guards would catch it, but the rank
smell of the river must have masked it.
I was thinking I might attract their attention away from the outcastùsplit my
self and somehow evade themùwhen a pair of ducks, sleeping in the reeds,
suddenly flew off, quacking loudly, skimming the surface of the water and
shattering the quiet of the night. The men shouted in surprise, then jeered at
each other. They joked and grumbled for a little longer, threw stones at the
ducks, then left in the direction opposite the one they'd come from. I heard
their footsteps echo through the town, fading until even I could hear them no
more. I began to scold the man.
ôWhat are you doing out at this time of night? They'd have thrown you in the
river if they'd found you.ö
He bent his head to my feet again. ôSit up,ö I urged him. ôSpeak to me.ö
He sat, glanced briefly upward at my face, and then dropped his eyes. ôI come
every night I can,ö he muttered. ôI've been praying to God for one more sight
of you. I can never forget what you did for my brotherùfor the rest of them.ö [ Pobierz caÅ‚ość w formacie PDF ]