Read Online Across the Nightingale Floor by Lian Hearn - Free Book Online Page B

reason, from the night of
the assassination attempt on, learning became easier. Slowly the characters
began to unlock their meaning and retain their place in my brain. I even began
to enjoy them, the different shapes that flowed like water, or perched solid
and squat like black crows in winter. I wouldn't admit it to Ichiro, but
drawing them gave me a deep pleasure.
    Ichiro was an acknowledged master,
well known for the beauty of his writing and the depth of his learning. He was
really far too good a teacher for me. I did not have the mind of a natural
student. But what we both discovered was that I could mimic. I could present a
passable copy of a student, just as I could copy the way he'd draw from the
shoulder, not the wrist, with boldness and concentration. I knew I was just
mimicking him, but the results were adequate.
    The same thing happened when Lord
Shigeru taught me the use of the sword. I was strong and agile enough, probably
more than average for my height, but I had missed the boyhood years when the
sons of warriors practice endlessly at sword, bow, and horsemanship. I knew I
would never make them up.
    Riding came easily enough. I
watched Lord Shigeru and the other men, and realized it was mainly a matter of
balance. I simply copied what I saw them do and the horse responded. I
realized, too, that the horse was shyer and more nervous than I was. To the
horse I had to act like a lord, hide my own feelings for his sake, and pretend
I was perfectly in control and knew exactly what was going on. Then the horse
would relax beneath me and be happy.
    I was given a pale gray horse with
a black mane and tail, called Raku, and we got on well together. I did not take
to archery at all, but in using the sword again I copied what I saw Lord
Shigeru do, and the results were passable. I was given a long sword of my own,
and wore it in the sash of my new clothes as any warrior's son would. But
despite the sword and the clothes I knew I was only an imitation warrior.
    So the weeks went by. The household
accepted that Lord Otori intended to adopt me, and little by little their
attitude towards me changed. They spoiled, teased, and scolded me in equal
measures. Between the studying and training I had little spare time and I was
not supposed to go out alone, but I still had my restless love of roaming, and
whenever I could I slipped away and explored the city of Hagi. I liked to go
down to the port, where the castle in the west and the old volcano crater in
the east held the bay like a cup in their two hands. I'd stare out to sea and
think of all the fabled lands that lay beyond the horizon and envy the sailors
and fishermen.
    There was one boat that I always
looked for. A boy about my own age worked on it. I knew he was called Terada
Fumio. His father was from a low-rank warrior family who had taken up trade and
fishing rather than die of starvation. Chiyo knew all about them, and I got
this information at first from her. I admired Fumio enormously. He had actually
been to the mainland. He knew the sea and the rivers in all their moods. At
that time I could not even swim. At first we just nodded at each other, but as
the weeks went by we became friends. I'd go aboard and we'd sit and eat
persimmons, spitting the pips into the water, and talk about the things boys
talk about. Sooner or later we would get on to the Otori lords; the Terada
hated them for their arrogance and greed. They suffered from the
ever-increasing taxes that the castle imposed, and from the restrictions placed
on trade. When we talked about these things it was in whispers, on the seaward
side of the boat, for the castle, it was said, had spies everywhere.
    I was hurrying home late one
afternoon after one of these excursions. Ichiro had been called to settle an
account with a merchant. I'd waited for ten minutes and then decided he was not
coming back and made my escape. It was well into the tenth month. The air was
cool and filled with the smell of burning rice