I sloughed away any remaining mistrust of Ansei like an outgrown skin, without knowing him or understanding his motives for kindness to me. He never could justify to me his coming to Madame Ozawa’s. He never would explain why he was helping me, healing me. It was as though he was somehow bound to perform these miraculous rites, without any compensation. But that wasn’t quite true.

If I were honest with myself, I would acknowledge that he had implied that there might be a cost to come. One day there would be a reckoning. Yes, and somehow this deed would eclipse everything he had done for me. And still, I couldn’t imagine ever having power to give Ansei anything of value.

Time—much time—taught me this was only a failure of imagination on my part.

* * *

By night, Ansei and I cloistered in the private recesses of the garden where he revealed to me his mysteries of the earth and spade. Since arriving at Madame Ozawa’s house, he had not been idle.

“These are my medicinal herbs. I don’t dare plant them too extensively. They’re not ornamental, after all.” He knelt down and gestured to the differing flowering and leafy bunches. “Motherwort, passionflower, ginseng, burdock, rhodiola.”

“What is this?” I pointed to a small bush that he had apparently grafted with little sprigs bearing tiny white flowers.

“That—” he said, encasing the plant between his hands protectively, “is an experiment. If it works, once tinctured, it will make a fairly potent antidote for blood borne illness.”

I started.

“That is truly wonderful. Will you sell it?”

“I don’t know,” he said, but seemed doubtful.

“But such a medicine would be so valuable.”

Changing the subject, he gestured to another corner of the garden.

I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye—his jaw set; his mouth grim. Another secret? Somehow, I sensed this antidote might not be for everyone.

“Yes. Show me.”

Ansei was not only an herbalist. He was an artist. In one short season, he had begun training cypress, pines, and azaleas into the beginnings of a stunning miniature collection. I could hardly believe how life thrived beneath his touch. And yet I could believe it.

“Has Madame seen these?”

Ansei shook his head.

“I don’t know if she would approve them entirely. I promised her a harvest.”

“And she’ll have it. I have seen the vegetable garden.”

“Come,” he gestured with his head. “The greens are ready.”

He pressed a small harvesting knife into my palm and we knelt between the furrows of the tender plants.

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It was a white night, clear and luminous, as only the first night following heavy rains can be. The thrumming song of the cicadas and the percussion of the bullfrogs rose above the sound of our movements between the furrows.

“Careful with that one,” Ansei whispered and I started when his giant hand covered mine. He lifted a heavy leaf and revealed a large orb spider crouched below. “You were about to disturb one of my best workers.”

I released a quiet gasp, and peered upward, studying Ansei’s eyes. How had he even noticed the spider? Ansei seemed to know the placement of every mysterious thing. His movements were quick, yet perceiving. He was gentle, kind, but exquisitely restrained. Here was a man of no rank, no wealth, and yet, somehow—again, I remembered Tatsuo’s suspicions of his immortality, and I could not tear my gaze away from him.

When we finished in the garden, I sank low into a parting bow, but before I retreated a step, Ansei’s hand caught my elbow.

“I can’t let you go inside like that.”

I glanced down at my cotton robe. Damp earth stained the hem and the area where I had knelt on the ground. I had also managed to soil my hands and knees and could not return directly to the house.

“It will be hard to wash the robe and yourself without anyone’s notice.”

I instantly understood he was right.

“Wash at the spring, and I’ll take your clothing and return it clean.”

I nodded, and followed him to the spring deep inside the garden. Shadows of the sculpted trees cast strange shapes across Ansei’s face, hiding his eyes, but I could feel his gaze upon me notwithstanding. Surrounding the milky mineral pool, my mother-of-pearl tile work shone under the moonlight like lightning, and seemed to ignite me with an electric current that I was sure I couldn’t long withstand.

“Your work?” Ansei said.

I gave a shy nod.

“I bathe here in your mother-of-pearl bath often.” A small smile touched his lips. “You’ve ruined me for scrubbing over a bucket for the rest of my life.”

I smiled at this. It seemed to me that my ambition to attract the gods had been realized after all, but I had never imagined myself bathing with them, and the thought of it froze the breath in my lungs.

The pool was small and deep, fed by an underground river. Although not especially warm, it made quite a good home bath.

I stole a last quick glance at Ansei, who stood silently by. There was wisdom, and not seduction motivating the bath proposal, I thought. What’s more, bathing was a ritual for social cohesion as well as cleanliness, but little more. And yet, Ansei was a man unlike any I had ever seen, and we were alone.

Had the time come? Would he make his request of me now? If so, I told myself I was prepared to answer him. I ducked behind a juniper, shivered as I dropped my garments, then slipped into the pool, gasping as I submerged my warm skin up to the neck. My gaze searched to the pool’s edge, where Ansei stood.

But the poolside was vacant.

I scanned all around. Ansei had disappeared.

I waited some minutes, scrubbing my knees and hands with a handful of green maple leaves, but Ansei never reappeared.

I checked myself against the disappointment that gripped my stomach. Was Ansei an immortal? Would he make an illicit request of me? I trembled with the cold realization that he wouldn’t. After all, it was against his character. His every action had always been protective—yes, towards me, but he had reserved an uneasy distance for himself and something made me uncertain this protection was for my sake alone.

Floating on my back, I peered into the night sky. The iridescent glow of the abalone shells lent the bath a dream-like quality. I almost thought I could have been dreaming. And recently, my dreams had been so vivid.

I closed my eyes against the real possibility of my own madness, blinked, and flinched. One shaku from my face, stretched between two low hanging branches of the nearby maple, spread the silken threads of an enormous spider’s web. In the center crouched a spider, identical to the one I had saved from Cook several weeks before. He seemed to watch me with the same intensity reserved for a flailing moth.

“Don’t look at me like that,” I said, speaking aloud. “I saved your life…or that of a family member. You owe me a debt of gratitude.” I paddled slowly backwards toward the pool’s edge. The spider’s eight eyes seemed to follow me. As I peered back, a mysterious voice flooded my mind with breathtaking force.

So you did. And I will never forget it.