You will never catch
The tiger’s cub until you
Go into its cave
I reined in my horse as Tokyo came into view.
He was the same lean, bad-tempered beast I had ridden on my journey to Sapporo. Sho had produced him as if by magic when we landed on Hokkaido. As he didn’t even attempt to bite me this time, I hoped my mount might finally have gotten used to me riding him.
Sho turned from his habitual place at my horse’s head, and not for the first time, I wondered at his unfailing energy.
“It’s not too late to change your mind,” he said shrewdly. “I believe the authorities will have lost interest in you by now, but what I think doesn’t matter at all. If you want to turn back, or perhaps ride on to Kyoto or Kobe, I will accompany you.”
I hesitated for a heartbeat and then shook my head. “I will not run away. I belong here. If there is still trouble for me, then I must face it. How could I live with myself if I didn’t?”
“Your father should be very proud of his daughter, Mi-chan.”
Sho’s voice was so soft, I barely heard his words, but they meant a great deal to me.
“Thank you.”
“I will leave you now.”
The word no leaped into my mouth, but I closed my lips on it. I had come to depend on Sho, and although I knew this time must come, I still wanted to put the moment off. I glanced at him and understood that he felt the same wrenching awkwardness as I was.
But it would not do. Sho had called himself a nomad, and I knew that if I tried to tie him down, his very essence would die. Nor could I wander any longer. I was home, and here I would stay.
So instead, I smiled brightly and held out my hand to Sho. He touched my fingers briefly and I thought he was going to say something, but instead, he turned and walked away from me briskly, without a backward glance.
The tears had long since been blinked from my eyes as I entered Tokyo.
At once, it was as if I had never been gone.
The crowd enveloped me. It was nearly midday and clerks and merchants thronged to the teahouses for their meals. As I thought that, the smells of matcha tea and savory rice began to tantalize me. Almost did I decide to stop and enjoy a good meal, but I did not.
It was time I went home, to my home, and nothing—neither hunger nor thirst nor fear—was going to stop me.
I was prepared for disappointment. Quite possibly my house had been claimed by the authorities in my absence. If it were still mine, it would surely be cold and dusty and unwelcoming.
No matter. I had to know.
I kicked my horse into a faster pace. Perhaps it was because he was unused to crowds, but he responded far quicker than usual. A few people turned their heads and grumbled as he forced his way through, but most stood aside good-naturedly to allow me to pass.
As usual, my street—slightly outside the bustle of Tokyo center—was quiet, with only a couple of women gossiping on the corner and several men doing the same, but pretending their discourse was serious and important. I pretended not to notice that all of them fell quiet and turned to watch my progress.
I could barely breathe for excitement and—I acknowledged reluctantly to myself—fear. If the authorities claimed me again, knowing what was to come, would I have the courage to defy them this time?
“It’s easier to give birth than to think about it,” I muttered out loud. My horse waggled his ears as if agreeing with me, and suddenly I wanted to laugh.
I was home. No matter what happened, nobody could take this moment away from me.
My house looked the same as I remembered it. The paintwork on the eaves was bright, the shoji sparkling clean. My spirits sank. Surely this was as clear an indication as anything that my home was no longer mine. That it had been either sold or gifted to a stranger in my absence?
I heard noises behind me and turned to find that perhaps forty or more people were now thronging the narrow street, packed so tightly that my escape was cut off.
A street urchin sidled up to me and asked hopefully if I wanted him to hold my horse for me. I nodded and handed him a coin, feeling in my obi by touch. It must have been of high value, as the boy looked at it with wide eyes and told me he would wait as long as I wanted.
I handed him the reins and my horse bared his teeth at the boy. In his turn, the boy peeled back his lips and snarled. I left them glaring at each other, comfortable that they were a match for one another.
Now, I had no way back. I hesitated, and then clattered my doorbell vigorously. I felt foolish ringing my own bell, but if—as I was increasingly certain—this was no longer my house, what else was I to do?
The door swung back promptly, as if somebody had been waiting for my signal. I gasped, putting my hand to my mouth with shock, as Shig emerged into the light, bowing deeply and repeatedly.
For a moment, I was sure I had lost my mind. Was it possible that Hokkaido and Vladivostok had been no more than the strangest of dreams? That my captivity had become so unendurable that I had retreated into some imaginary world of my own devising in an attempt to preserve my sanity?
A sound from the crowd behind me made me jerk my head up. Every one of them was clapping repeatedly.
I bowed deeply to them all. I had no idea what was going on but feared that this was another ploy by the authorities. At any moment, I expected Manaka’s replacement to thrust his way through the crowd and put that terrible hood over my head again, dragging me away as the crowd’s polite clapping turned to hisses of derision.
But it did not happen.
Shig stepped forward, gesturing with her hands that I was to enter. I stepped into my home unsteadily, blinking through tears at polished furniture and spotless tatami.
“You expected me, Shig?” My question seemed senseless even to my own ears, but I had to say something.
“Oh, yes, mistress. Of course. Abe-san told me some days ago that I was to expect you at any moment. He said he’d had a telegram to say you were getting close to Tokyo.” She shook her head in obvious amazement. “He showed it to me. I had never seen a telegram before. I thought they were messages strung on wires and somehow sent at high speed, but Abe-san said the message was sent inside the wires.” She shook her head in awe at this strange method of communicating. “I don’t understand it at all, but I daresay you do. In any event, shortly after you left us, Abe-san found me at my brother’s house and told me you would be returning, but he didn’t know when. He said he would tell me when you were due to return. I was delighted when Abe-san said I was to come back and make the house ready for you.” She paused for breath and then went on before I could collect my thoughts. “I knew you would be home soon anyway. It was in the newspaper this morning. Everybody’s talking about it. Look.”
Shig thrust a copy of today’s morning edition of Yomiuri Shimbun at me. I stared at the headline, barely able to focus for my bewilderment. I had to touch it with my finger, like a child spelling out new words, before it made any sense.
It read, “Beloved Tokyo Healing Woman Returns from Mercy Mission in Vladivostok.” Shig was beaming at me.
“I couldn’t read it myself, of course. But Abe-san read the whole page out for me. He is a nice man…for a yakuza,” she added cautiously. “He asked me to tell you that he will call this evening, after you have finished your surgery for the day. Would you like some tea before I let the first patients in?”
Tea. The very normality of the word gave me strength.
“Tea. Yes, tea would be lovely. Thank you, Shig.”
I stayed where I was, lacking the will to move. Could it be true? Had the authorities forgiven my supposed misdemeanors? Or perhaps discreetly forgotten? Had Abe and his father acted on my behalf? Or—and I leaned against the door as my strength left me at the thought—was it possible Father had interceded on my behalf in my absence? If that was truly so, then I was safe, as was Father.
If the latter was so, then I was surely the happiest woman in the whole of Tokyo. Abe would surely know the truth of the matter. And I would see him later today.
I smiled at the thought.
The doorbell was jangling, so I let my first patient in myself, automatically diagnosing jaundice from the yellow tinge to his skin and the whites of his eyes.
After I had shown the man into the surgery, I glanced at the newspaper, read the headline again, then folded it up and put it neatly away in a drawer.
As the proverb says, the past is the future of the present.
No matter what my future was, I was home. And I was overjoyed to be here at last. I looked forward to seeing Abe again with almost as much pleasure.
I took a deep breath, turning my attention to my patient’s needs. Before I could walk into the surgery, the doorbell rang again, and the door was thrust open urgently. I hovered between laughter and dismay as the huge figure of my sumo wrestler. The same cat basket clutched in his giant hand cast a shadow on my hall floor. Chibi again? She would have to wait until I had seen to my human patient.
Before I could speak, Chibi’s owner spoke in a voice that vibrated with pleasure. “Mi-san, I read in the newspaper that you had returned to us. I was so pleased, I had to come at once. I have a present for you.”
He placed the wicker basket carefully on the floor. He flipped the hasp with an oddly delicate finger and reached inside, straightening up with a cat in his arms.
Not Chibi at all. This was clearly just a kitten, and dramatically beautiful. Where Chibi was white, this cat was jet black. The only white visible was its whiskers, which were pure silver. But it was clearly Chibi’s kitten—the same orange eyes, long, luxuriant fur, and bobtail. It hung from the wrestler’s grip, purring contentedly.
“For me?”
“If you would like her. I did try to keep Chibi inside when she came into season again, but the wicked little thing managed to get out. This is the last kitten from her second litter. Her babies are greatly in demand since they are so beautiful, but I knew you liked Chibi, so I saved this one for you. Her name is Shima, but of course, you can change it if you wish.”
I stroked the kitten and it reached out a tiny paw and patted my hand. Shima. The name was so very like Sho, and appropriate in another way as well. The name meant to recall or think back, and I knew instantly that every time I stroked little Shima, I would recall Sho.
“Thank you.” I coughed to hide the catch in my voice, and my visitor beamed at me.
“I knew you would love her. She’s house-trained,” he added anxiously. I glanced at his face and guessed that parting with Chibi’s last kitten was causing him great pain. I was sure when he said, “I must leave you. If I don’t hurry back to the haya, I will be late for training. Goodbye, Mi-san. Goodbye, Shima.”
He thrust the kitten into my arms. I bent my head and rubbed my nose on her silken fur, hardly believing that I had finally been given the pet I had longed for when I was a child.
Clearly exhausted by her exciting journey, Shima closed her eyes and fell asleep in my embrace. I put her down carefully and she did not wake.
Although I saw my new pet, my thoughts were far away.
I was truly home. I had followed my heart, and instinct had not betrayed me. I was where I belonged—for the foreseeable future, at least. Would I travel again? Visit countries I had only heard about? Would the pleasure I anticipated in meeting Abe again blossom into something far more intense?
Perhaps. I had no idea, and the excitement of the endless possibilities before me filled me to overflowing with joy. My life was my own. What more could I ask for? I knew the answer to that, at least.
Nothing at all.
I was so distracted by my pleasure that I jumped with surprise as my patient spoke loudly and rapidly, already telling me his raft of symptoms.
Some things, it seemed, never changed.
The irony made me smile.