Shogun - Clavell James (бесплатные полные книги .TXT) 📗
All was ready. The first perfection of the cha-no-yu was cleanliness, the second, complete simplicity. The last and greatest, suitability to the particular guest or guests.
He heard her footsteps on the flagstones, the sound of her dipping her hands ritually in the cistern of fresh river water and drying them. Three soft steps up to the veranda. Two more to the curtained doorway. Even she had to bend to come through the tiny door that was made deliberately small to humble everyone. At a cha-no-yu all were equal, host and guest, the most high daimyo and merest samurai. Even a peasant if he was invited.
First she studied her husband's flower arrangement. He had chosen the blossom of a single white wild rose and put a single pearl of water on the green leaf, and set it on red stones. Autumn is coming, he was suggesting with the flower, talking through the flower, do not weep for the time of fall, the time of dying when the earth begins to sleep; enjoy the time of beginning again and experience the glorious cool of the autumn air on this summer evening . . . soon the tear will vanish and the rose, only the stones will remain - soon you and I will vanish and only the stones will remain.
He watched her, apart from himself, now deep in the near trance that a cha-master sometimes was fortunate enough to experience, completely in harmony with his surroundings. She bowed to the flower in homage and came and knelt opposite him. Her kimono was dark brown, a thread of burnt gold at the seams enhancing the white column of her throat and face; her obi the darkest of greens that matched the underkimono; her hair simple and upswept and unadorned.
"You are welcome," he said with a bow, beginning the ritual.
"It is my honor," she replied, accepting her role.
He served the tiny repast on a blemishless lacquered tray, the chopsticks placed just so, the slivers of fish on rice that he had prepared a part of the pattern, and to complete the effect, a few wild flowers that he had found near the river bank scattered in perfect disarray. When she had finished eating and he, in his turn, had finished eating, he lifted the tray, every movement formalized - to be observed and judged and recorded - and took it through the low doorway into the kitchen.
Then alone, at rest, Mariko watched the fire critically, the coals a glowing mountain on a sea of stark white sand below the tripod, her ears listening to the hissing sound of the fire melding with the sighing of the barely simmering kettle above, and, from the unseen kitchen, the sibilance of cloth on porcelain and water cleaning the already clean. In time her eyes wandered to the raw twisted rafters and to the bamboos and the reeds that formed the thatch. The shadows cast by the few lamps he had placed seemingly at random made the small large and the insignificant rare, and the whole a perfect harmony. After she had seen everything and measured her soul against it, she went again into the garden, to the shallow basin that, over eons, nature had formed in the rock. Once more she purified her hands and mouth with the cool, fresh water, drying them on a new towel.
When she had settled back into her place he said, "Perhaps now you would take cha?"
"It would be my honor. But please do not put yourself to so much trouble on my account. "
"It is my honor. You are my guest."
So he had served her. And now there was the ending.
In the silence, Mariko did not move for a moment, but stayed in her tranquillity, not wishing yet to acknowledge the ending or disturb the peace surrounding her. But she felt the growing strength of his eyes. The cha-no-yu was ended. Now life must begin again.
"You did it perfectly," she whispered, her sadness overwhelming her. A tear slid from her eyes and the falling ripped the heart from his chest.
"No - no. Please excuse me . . . you are perfect . . . it was ordinary," he said, startled by such unexpected praise.
"It was the best I've ever seen," she said, moved by the stark honesty in his voice.
"No. No, please excuse me, if it was fair it was because of you, Mariko-san. It was only fair - you made it better."
"For me it was flawless. Everything. How sad that others, more worthy than I, couldn't have witnessed it also!" Her eyes glistened in the flickering light.
"You witnessed it. That is everything. It was only for you. Others wouldn't have understood."
She felt the hot tears now on her cheeks. Normally she would have been ashamed of them but now they did not trouble her. "Thank you, how can I thank you?"
He picked up a sprig of wild thyme and, his fingers trembling leaned over and gently caught one of her tears. Silently he looked down at the tear and the branchlet dwarfed by his huge fist. "My work - any work - is inadequate against the beauty of this. Thank you."
He watched the tear on the leaf. A piece of charcoal fell down the mountain and, without thinking, he picked up the tongs and replaced it. A few sparks danced into the air from the mountaintop and it became an erupting volcano.
Both drifted into a sweet melancholia, joined by the simplicity of the single tear, content together in the quiet, joined in humility, knowing that what had been given had been returned in purity.
Later he said, "If our duty did not forbid it, I would ask you to join me in death. Now."
"I would go with you. Gladly," she answered at once. "Let us go to death. Now."
"We can't. Our duty is to Lord Toranaga."
She took out the stiletto that was in her obi and reverently placed it on the tatami. "Then please allow me to prepare the way."
"No. That would be failing in our duty."
"What is to be, will be. You and I cannot turn the scale."
"Yes. But we may not go before our Master. Neither you nor I. He needs every trustworthy vassal for a little longer. Please excuse me, I must forbid it."
"I would be pleased to go tonight. I'm prepared. More than that, I totally desire to go beyond. Yes. My soul is brimming with joy." A hesitant smile. "Please excuse me for being selfish. You're perfectly right about our duty."
The razor-sharp blade glistened in the candlelight. They watched it, lost in contemplation. Then he broke the spell.
"Why Osaka, Mariko-san?"
"There are things to be done there which only I can do."
His frown deepened as he watched the light from a guttering wick catch the tear and become refracted into a billion colors.
"What things?"
"Things that concern the future of our house which must be done by me."
"In that case you must go." He looked at her searchingly. "But you alone?"
"Yes. I wish to make sure all family arrangements are perfect between us and Lord Kiyama for Saruji's marriage. Money and dowry and lands and so on. There's his increased fief to formalize. Lord Hiro-matsu and Lord Toranaga require it done. I am responsible for the house."
"Yes," he said slowly, "that's your duty." His eyes held hers. "If Lord Toranaga says you can go, then go, but it's not likely you'll be permitted there. Even so . . . you must return quickly. Very quickly. It would be unwise to stay in Osaka a moment longer than necessary. "
"Yes."
"By sea would be quicker than by road. But you've always hated the sea."
"I still hate the sea."
"Do you have to be there quickly?"
"I don't think half a month or a month would matter. Perhaps, I don't know. I just feel I should go at once."
"Then we will leave the time and the matter of the going to Lord Toranaga - if he permits you to go at all. With Lord Zataki here, and the two scrolls, that can only mean war. It will be too dangerous to go."
"Yes. Thank you."
Glad that that was now finished, he looked around the little room contentedly, unconcerned now that his ugly bulk dominated the space, each of his thighs broader than her waist, his arms thicker than her neck. "This has been a fine room, better than I'd dared to hope. I've enjoyed being here. I'm reminded again that a body's nothing but a but in the wilderness. Thank you for being here. I'm so glad you came to Yokose, Mariko-san. If it hadn't been for you I would never have given a cha-no-yu here and never felt so one with eternity."
