The Fire Kimono by Laura Joh Rowland Page B

complaining, I’ll touch you, and I can promise you won’t like it.”
    She raised her hand at the boy. Hirata was dismayed because Midori had vented her anger at him on their children. They didn’t deserve to suffer for what he’d done, and he felt guilty because he’d abandoned them as well as his wife. He and they were strangers, too. He tried to smile at them, but they retreated behind Midori. Tatsuo sucked his thumb; Taeko eyed Hirata warily.
    “Your father is leaving,” Midori said. “Say good-bye, in case you never see him again.”
    “Good-bye, Father,” mumbled the boy and girl.
    “You’ll see me tonight,” Hirata said, vexed by Midori’s sniping. “I’ll be back then.”
    “Go play.” Midori turned Tatsuo and Taeko around, swatted their behinds, and sent them running. She focused on Hirata a gaze filled with bitterness. “Don’t make promises to them that you can’t keep.”
    Hirata knew how unreliable his promises were. His duty to Sano and his commitment to the martial arts must always come first. He felt torn because he missed his family and wanted a happy life with them. He wanted Midori to give him a chance to start anew. But his own anger and stubbornness prevented him from asking.
    “I’m going,” he said, and walked out of the house.
    Spring graced the palace with blooming azaleas, trees resplendent in new green leaf, and dewy grass. The sun shone on its gabled roofs and half-timbered walls. But scenic beauty was lost on Sano as he and his entourage joined Hirata at the entrance. They barreled past the doors, through chambers filled with officials, and down the passages, and burst into the cavernous main reception room. There Sano found his mother kneeling before the dais, her gray head bowed, her hands tied behind her back with coarse rope. Her frail, bent body, clad in an old brown kimono, trembled. The shogun stood over her.
    “Did you kill my cousin?” he demanded. When she didn’t reply, he smacked her face. She cringed. He looked excited and proud of himself, a weak person tormenting a weaker one. “Answer me!”
    Lord Matsudaira sat nearby on the dais, brimming with evil enjoyment. A few allies knelt behind him, come to watch the fun. Sano noticed a new face among them: Lord Arima, daimyo of Kurume Province. Lord Arima’s topknot was gray, but his face was ageless, as if his skin were preserved in oil. His expressions were so fleeting that they never left a wrinkle. The Matsudaira troops, positioned with the shogun’s along the walls, watched impassively. The scene so enraged Sano that he forswore the required courtesies. He strode up to the shogun and pushed him away from his mother.
    “Leave her alone!”
    The shogun reeled backward. Everyone else stared, shocked that Sano would lay a hand on their lord. Even Lord Matsudaira appeared flummoxed by Sano’s nerve.
    “This woman has been accused of killing Tadatoshi,” the shogun huffed. “I’m, ahh, interrogating her.”
    “She’s my mother,” Sano said, furious.
    Hands on his hips, the shogun said, “I don’t care if she’s the Buddha’s mother. If she killed my cousin, I’m going to make her confess.”
    “Mother, are you all right?” Sano asked.
    She gazed up at him. Her gentle, drooping features were blank with terror. She didn’t seem to recognize Sano. He untied the rope and held her hands. They were cold and blue from lack of blood circulation. He felt her shivering, heard her soft whimpers.
    “She had nothing to do with Tadatoshi’s murder,” Sano told the shogun. “She’s innocent.”
    “Of course you would say that.” The shogun swelled up with obstinacy. “You’re her son. But I know better.”
    “How?” Sano demanded. “What proof do you have?”
    “Why, ahh-” The shogun floundered, subsiding into his usual cowed witlessness. “They said so.”
    “‘they’ meaning ‘you.’” Sano turned on Lord Matsudaira. “This is your doing. You’re attacking me by accusing my