“But the sound comes from the rock pile. Somewhere up there is a narrow opening letting in the air and that is why it whistles.”
Haseo pondered this. “Surely you don’t plan to move the whole rock pile?” he finally said.
“We’ve carried rocks before. Why not now when it may mean our freedom?”
“The whole thing may come loose and crush us.”
“Yes. But perhaps not.”
Haseo grunted and then climbed back up to the top, Akitada at his heels. He could hear him scrabbling about, and then a large piece of rock slid his way. He caught it barely before it would have crushed his fingers, and slid back down with it.
They worked on like this for what seemed like hours, sweat and stone dust crusting on their skin. Haseo grunted, cursed, and muttered, “Waste of time,” and “Stupid” under his breath, but he continued loosening rocks and passing them down by feel alone. Akitada was tiring. His excitement had carried him this far, but now his weakened body rebelled. After each stone he deposited below, it was a little harder to climb back up the few steps to where Haseo had made a foothold for himself. He was working much faster than Akitada could carry the rocks down.
Eventually Haseo was surrounded by a wall of rocks and stopped. “It’s no good,” he said. “There are too many for us to move. Let’s go back before we wall ourselves in.” Akitada listened. “The whistling has stopped,” he said.
Haseo listened also and started groping around again.
“Wish we had a light. I can feel the air in my hair. Wait a minute.” There was clatter, then the rocks beneath them seemed to come alive and shift.
“Watch out,” cried Akitada as he fell on his back and was carried downward. Haseo began to curse amid the rumble of falling rocks. When the noise stopped, Akitada cried, “Haseo?
Are you all right?”
“Yes. I think so.” Haseo’s voice came from somewhere beyond the rock pile.
“Where are you?”
“You were right. We’re through. The tunnel goes on from here.
Come on, but watch your feet. I got a nasty cut on my ankle.”
“Stand back in case it shifts again.” Akitada groped his way to the top of the pile carefully, found that he could wiggle through beneath the roof of the tunnel, then sat and slowly slid down on the other side.
Their success gave them new hope and they moved forward again. But soon the tunnel narrowed sharply and the ceiling dipped until they had to crawl again. It looked as though they were coming to the end of the lode. Haseo was in front, and when Akitada got down on his hands and knees, he felt something wet on the ground. He raised his hand to his nose and sniffed. Blood.
“Wait, you’re bleeding,” he cried.
Haseo gave a snort-“I know”-and kept crawling.
“It must be bad. We should stop and tie up the wound,” said Akitada.
“There’s not enough room,” grunted Haseo. Then he stopped and said, “Amida. I don’t believe it.”
“What?”
“I can see the stars. Either that or I’m dying.” Since Haseo’s body blocked the crawl space almost completely, Akitada could not see, but his heart started hammering.
“Can you get out?”
A muffled “Yes, oh, yes” came back on what sounded like a sob. Then Haseo slid away from him and there, barely lighter than the tunnel, was a patch of night sky.
Akitada crawled forward like a man in a dream. His hands touched the moist coolness of grass and he felt his shoulders brush past the mouth of the tunnel as he slipped through, then rolled down a steep slope and came to rest in a batch of bracken, breathing the scent of pine and clover and looking up at a starry sky.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Little Flower asked to see Tora the next morning. He had just finished his bowl of watery rice gruel without complaint-he did not mind sharing with Oyoshi’s large brood-when the request came. His hopes that Little Flower might have some new information about Wada to impart were quickly crushed by the landlady’s knowing wink.
“I’m pretty busy this morning,” he hedged, scratching one of the flea bites he had picked up overnight.
She grinned her gap-toothed smile and slapped his back with a cheerful, “Go on, handsome!” Tora, conscious of his new rank, thought her manner overly familiar, especially when she added, “You’re the first man Little Flower has lost her heart to.
She deserves something nice for a change.” He reached for his helmet and edged toward the door. “I’ll look in later,” he lied.
“It’ll just take a moment.” Oyoshi firmly took his arm and led him to the back of the hostel.
She flung back Little Flower’s door and pushed him in, slamming it behind him with a giggle.
Little Flower had taken pains with her toilet. She wore a garishly printed robe, covered mostly with red and pink peonies and brilliantly green leaves, and had tied a yellow sash about her tiny waist. Her face was powdered, the eyebrows black smudges painted on her forehead, the eyes ringed with charcoal, and her lips rouged into a tiny rosebud. Someone, perhaps Oyoshi, had brushed her hair and draped it artfully over her thin shoulders.
On either side of her painted face, a portion of hair had been whacked off in the style that little girls wore. These small black wings framed her face, making it appear incongruously young.
Tora, still scratching, simply stared at her.
She smiled-carefully, so as not to disturb the thick layer of powder-and revealed black teeth. “Do you like it, Master Tora?” she asked. “I wanted to show you that I can be quite pretty when I’m not sick. I’m much better today.” Tora swallowed. “I’m glad.”
She sat down and patted a cushion beside her invitingly.
“Why don’t you keep me company for a little while?”
“I . . . I have things to do.”
Her eyes grew large with hurt. “You don’t like me like this?
The hair? I should have pinned it up. Or perhaps you prefer less paint? Master Wada doesn’t like me to paint. He wants me to look like a child, but I thought you . . . you would be used to the women in the cities . . . very elegant and beautiful . . . oh, I shouldn’t have bothered.” Forgetting the thick white paint, she hid her face in the peony sleeves and wept.
Tora muttered a curse and knelt beside her. “Don’t do that, Little Flower,” he said gruffly. “You are really very pretty just as you are. You shouldn’t try to please that animal Wada or me.
You should go home to your family and find some other kind of work where you don’t get hurt by men.”
But it did no good. She sat there, weeping sadly into her finery, and after a while, he got up and left.
For once Turtle was nowhere to be found, and Tora walked to the harbor alone. The day was overcast and a chill wind whipped up the incoming tide so that the fishing boats bobbed like chaff among the whitecaps and dirty yellow foam covered the shore. Gulls swooped with raucous cries, diving for the small creatures the sea had thrown up on land and which scrambled madly to return to the safety of the ocean. This land was inhospitable to man and beast. The scene filled Tora with more gloom and a sense of urgency.
A few bearers were moving remnants of the previous day’s cargo, but no new ships from the mainland had arrived, and the harbor was without its usual staff of constables. Tora strolled along the street of ramshackle wine shops, warehouses, and port offices toward the end where some trees and more substantial roofs signaled better accommodations. He passed the wine shop where he had first stopped after disembarking. It was empty, but then it was still early in the day.
