The crane in the field
Stands still until his mate comes
To distract his poise
“Can you break my leg and reset go back to how it should be? So I can walk properly again? Can you really do that? Is that what you’re saying?”
Tengen’s few words had hoisted my spirits to the heavens. That had always been the answer. I had known it in my heart. And I was right! I was so excited I was panting.
“No.”
Tengen spoke gently, and it took me some time to understand what he had said. Even when I did, I refused to believe it. He had just told me his forefathers were bonesetters. Why would he raise my hopes only to dash them a moment later? I must have misheard him. Or perhaps there was another reason for his change of heart.
“I have money. I can pay you for your services. I have a gold coin. It is gaijin cash, but Father told me it is still very valuable. You can have it if you will heal my leg for me.” I added craftily, “I know you aren’t allowed any possessions of your own, but your kannushi will surely be delighted if you can give him such a valuable gift.”
I stared at Tengen, willing him to agree. When he shook his head, I was bewildered and so disappointed I itched to grab his robe and shake him until his teeth rattled. How could any man—still less a monk who should show kindness to all—be so cruel?
“Mi-san, listen to me. I could break your leg and reset it.” I jerked toward him, my expression begging him to say he would do that for me. But he shook his head. “I could, but I will not.”
“Is my gold coin not enough? I can persuade Father to give you more. Much more.”
That was the problem, I was certain. Although Father called himself a Buddhist, his real religion was gathering money. I understood that. Without money, no man had any place in this world. What was the point of being a samurai if a person had not a coin to his name? Better, surely, to be a wealthy peasant than a poor lord.
“Money means nothing to me.” I stared at Tengen incredulously. What nonsense was this? Even his kannushi had been pleased to accept Father’s money in exchange for Tengen’s teaching me to read and write. “The Lord Buddha tells us that we should perform acts of random kindness for no reward in this life, but to help us in future reincarnations.”
He seemed to feel this was explanation enough. To me, it was nonsense and made no sense at all.
“Then don’t take my cash. Do it for your own sake.”
Tengen sighed. He put his palms together in front of his face and closed his eyes. Was he about to meditate? I was so frustrated I almost screamed out loud. When he finally spoke, his voice was deliberate. Careful.
“You asked me why I thought I could help you when your physician could not. I told you my forefathers were bonesetters to answer your question.”
“Yes, and now you’re refusing to help me,” I snapped bitterly. “Why? Why did you raise my hopes when you can’t do anything?”
“I didn’t say that. I said that I would not break your leg and reset it. I promise you, that would not help you. But there are other methods that could. Before I can do anything to help you, I need to know how serious the damage is. May I look carefully at your twisted leg? Touch it?”
I realized with a flush of deep embarrassment that my withered leg was still fully exposed. I turned my head away and gestured with my hand to Tengen to look, for I could not. In any event, what did it matter? I was certain in my own mind that the only way to help my leg was to reset the bone. If he would not do that for me, what was the point in him even looking at the leg?
He was silent for so very long that finally I had to look at him. He was frowning. Of course he was, my leg was hideous. I felt it twitch involuntarily when he finally touched it. His fingers were very cool and very gentle.
“Am I hurting you?”
“Not at all.” As if I would have admitted it if he was. “I can feel your touch, but it doesn’t hurt.”
“And now?” Tengen had one hand above my knee and one below the joint and was pulling cautiously.
“It hurts,” I said through gritted teeth. I hated admitting to my pain, but I had a growing feeling that it was important to be honest with him.
I took a deep breath and forced myself to look at my withered leg. At once, I had to swallow bile. It was hideous. The flesh was wasted. I could see the bone clearly. My knee looked enormous, like some bloated bird’s egg. My foot was hooked like a claw. And worst of all, the leg was so twisted it looked almost as if my knee was back to front. I was so miserable that if I had been alone, I would have cried. But I was not alone, so I manufactured a smile and made myself watch Tengen.
I knew at once that he had not lied to me about his skills. His touch was confident, his gaze intent. A tiny flicker of hope rose in my mind, but I pushed it brutally down. He could—or would—do nothing. He had already told me that.
“It is deporable that your physician did not give you a program of intensive exercises for the leg as soon as you recovered from your fever. As it is, it has set itself in place, and not the place it should be in.”
“Then it needs to be broken and reset,” I persisted stubbornly. “If you know how to do that, why won’t you do it for me?”
“Because it won’t help. Not now. Look at your leg, Mi-san.” I shook my head, but Tengen persisted. “Look at it. If I am going to help you in any way, you must understand what I am doing and why I am doing it. Watch.”
Reluctantly, I focused on my leg. The more I looked, the more I hated it. But strangely, the very bitterness of my feelings gave me strength. I would not let my own body defeat me.
“I told you the men in my family have always been bonesetters.” Tengen appeared to expect an answer, so I nodded. “It is something that has been passed down to each generation. It is instinctive, although my father insisted that there is always something that can be learned about healing. But bone-setting is only part of the skill. There is no point in making a limb knit itself together and then leaving it alone. If one did that, then the bone would never be quite right again. It is essential that the limb is exercised and manipulated so that it can regain its former strength.”
“But you will not break my bone and reset it how it should be.” What was the point of this lecture if Tengen had no intention of helping me in the only way possible? I was astonished at how patient I sounded.
“It would not help you if I did.” As he spoke, Tengen was performing a curious twisting motion with his hands on my knee. I could feel the joint becoming warm. I was astonished. It was the first time I had felt anything in the knee since I had awoken from my fever. “If I thought it would help, I would do it. But at best, it would do no good at all, and at worst, it could make the leg even more twisted. But that does not mean I cannot help you. I am certain that I can. It will take time, and much effort on your behalf. And when we have finished, your leg will still not be as perfect as the other one. But it will be better than this. Show me both legs, side by side.”
Excitement made me breathless. No matter how I tried to push it away, hope would not be subdued. I was certain that Tengen would not lie to me, that if he said he could help me, then it would happen. I jerked my skirts aside fully and even the cruel contrast between my legs did not shrivel my spirits as it usually did. But still, I was cautious.
“How can you help? Tell me! If the bone is set too firmly in place to be mended, how can the wretched thing be improved?”
“I can show you the way, but I cannot help you. Nobody can help you except yourself.” Tengen lifted my good leg and held it in his palm. “Hold that leg steady there. Good. Now lower it slowly. And do the same with the left leg.”
He hoisted it in his hand. I clenched my teeth with the effort, but as soon as he took his hand away, the leg fell lifelessly to the tatami. I almost howled with frustration.
“It’s useless. I can’t even feel it, much less hold it up.”
“Fall seven times, stand up eight,” Tengen said firmly. “Try again.”
He took his palm away. My leg fell down.
“It’s useless,” I protested again.
“If you say so,” he said amiably and stood up.
“What are you doing?” It was a stupid question. I could see what Tengen was doing—he was leaving.
“I told you, Mi-san, I cannot heal you. The only person who can do that is you. If you don’t believe that your leg will improve, then it will not and we are both wasting our time.”
I glared at him. Tengen smiled and waited silently.
“I cannot do this on my own,” I said finally. “If you will help me, then I will do my best.”
I thought that I had spoken bravely and that Tengen would appreciate my determination. I was wrong.
“Your best is not good enough. You must be certain that you will not fail. There can be no doubt in your mind. Not now, not ever. If that is not so, then there is no point in even beginning.”
“The journey of a thousand days starts with a single step.” How very apt the proverb was. I smiled sourly at the thought. “I will begin my journey today, Brother Tengen, and I will not fall.”
“You will not fail,” he corrected me gently. “You are certain to fall many, many times.”
He smiled, and I realized it was the first time I had ever seen his lips set in anything but a straight line. The smile changed his whole face, making him appear younger and—the word came into my mind instantly—vulnerable. What nonsense was this? Surely it was I who was the vulnerable one, not him.
“But before we begin, I must talk to your father about what I am going to do and obtain his permission. He hired me to teach you to read and write, not heal your leg. You must understand, I can do nothing further without his permission. Or would it be better for me to speak to your mother? It may be some time before your father is here when I arrive, and I do not wish to delay any longer than is necessary. Too much time has been wasted already.”
“No.” Tengen was obviously startled by the urgency in my voice. I smiled and made a dismissive gesture with my hand. “Mother does not like to discuss illness. She finds it very difficult to talk about my leg. It would distress her greatly if you spoke to her. And as you say, it could well be some time before you see Father. I will speak to him myself this evening and get his permission.”
I wondered if the blatant lie showed in my face. I was not used to lying, and I felt sure it must be obvious. But Tengen appeared not to notice anything.
“Good. For my next visit, please have a quantity of very hot cloths ready. And something sturdy but soft, an old obi would be perfect.”
I was so pleased that he believed me that I didn’t realize he was waiting for me to stand up to wish him farewell. I stood up clumsily. Normally, the lack of grace would have caused me great sorrow, but today it bothered me not at all. I was shocked when he held his arm out silently, inviting me to take it. Such an intimate touch from a relative stranger was disturbing. I took it anyway with genuine gratitude and leaned against him heavily as he walked and I shuffled to the shoji. He really was slender. I could feel his ribs through his robe, and I felt guilty all over again at making him miss two meals.
He bowed politely before he slid the shoji closed behind him. I waited, staring at the closed shoji, until the crisp sounds of Tengen’s feet crunching on the gravel died into silence. Then I closed my eyes and allowed my thoughts free rein.
I had no intention of asking Father for permission. Still less would I mention it to Mother. The very thought made me shudder. At least I had not lied about that. Mother hated and feared illness in any form. Miserably, I knew that she would have preferred me to die than to live the rest of my life as an ugly, deformed cripple. She kept me out of view, as if by hiding me she could deny that there was anything wrong. Lady Ai’s visit had been the only time anybody outside our household had seen me since my illness. Mother would, I knew, be appalled at the very idea of a man—even if he was a monk and, thus, not really a man—looking at my leg and touching it. Nor would she believe that he could help. If my highly paid and supposedly highly skilled physician could do nothing, how could a simple monk do anything?
But I knew Father would not react in the same way. He would probably agree to Tengen trying to help me walk again. Why not? Brother Tengen’s kannushi would get his fee no matter how the monk spent his time. Yet, I did not want to ask him. I could bear my own disappointment if Tengen failed. But I could not bear seeing my dear Father endure the same sorrow. Better by far that he knew nothing of my plans. If I succeeded, we would rejoice together.
For some reason, the thought gave me great pain.