A mustard seed … is less than all the seeds that be in the earth: But when it is sown, it groweth up, and becometh greater than all herbs, and shooteth out great branches; so that the fowls of the air may lodge under the shadow of it.

—Mark 4:31-32

Paulo

“Bless me Father, for I have sinned.”

“It has been...” Padre Hachiro prompted me.

“It has been fifteen--no--seventeen years since my last confession. I have...” I struggled to get words out. I didn’t want to say anything more. “I have killed.” The memory of Osamu lying on the ground, blood bubbling from his chest, halted my words.

“How many times?” the padre asked.

How many?

The memories of so many men, so much blood, rushed to me. I shook my head. “I don’t know.” I laughed. “Maybe some didn’t die. Sometimes battle is confusing...” I looked at the door, wishing I could escape this ordeal.

Why did I let Mother and Gracia talk me into this?

“Perhaps you don’t want to know?”

My attention snapped back to the Padre.

How could he know?

Lying during confession was probably a very bad idea, so I said nothing.

“Although Our Savior commands us to live in peace, we live in a violent world. Sometimes killing is necessary, but it should never be easy.” He studied me for a moment. “Is it easy?”

I stared at the Christian rosary in his hands, not wanting to meet his eyes. “Maybe. I try not to think too much about it.”

He nodded. “Then you must start thinking. Try to remember each man you killed. Recite the Hail Mary prayer for him. Picture him. Remember what you know of him while you are reciting the prayer. You will do this every night for a month.”

My mind reeled as I stumbled through the rest of the confession.

Would this work? Contrition was important. Yet, I still believed that some of those men deserved their deaths. I was not truly sorry I killed them. Others, like the guards at the Machi-Bugyu’s compound were merely doing their job. Could I remember all their faces? I never even looked.

“God, the Father of mercies, through the death and resurrection of His Son, has reconciled the world to Himself and sent the Holy Spirit among us for the forgiveness of sins; through the ministry of the Church may God give you pardon and peace, and I absolve you from your sins, In the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.”

My head jerked up. Absolved? God would pardon me?

If he forgives me, can I forgive myself?

“Amen,” I whispered.

***

Asano and I sat together quietly as we watched the Buddhist funeral rites. Grandfather sat in front of us, observing everything in stony silence.

The priest chanted the words to the sutra, then raised his voice to address us. “This marks the end of the mortal life of Hattori Akiyo and her three companions, Kaguya, Hanae, and—” here he stumbled over the unfamiliar pronunciation, “Sai. Their deaths...” He stopped and looked at Grandfather. “How did they die?”

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“It doesn’t matter,” Grandfather growled. “Go on.”

“They have returned from whence they came, back to the great wheel of life.”

Asano leaned over and whispered in my ear, “I will miss my lunches with Sai. She was my favorite informant.”

The priest began chanting from the Lotus Sutra.

“Did you ever see her out of her disguise?” Asano continued.

“Yes, she dressed up as a courtesan when we investigated my brother’s murder at the Chrysanthemum House.”

“Was she pretty?”

I looked at Asano curiously. “She looked nice. Cute. It was funny seeing her trying to behave like a highly-trained courtesan.” I chuckled. “She wasn’t very good at it. Why do you ask?”

Asano blushed and turned his attention to the coffins. “No reason. Just curiosity.”

I considered him for a moment. “You aren’t married, are you?”

“No. With so many men coming from the provinces it is not easy to find a suitable wife in Edo. Especially for a low-ranking samurai. My father tried to arrange something with a girl from back home, but her family decided she would be miserable living by herself here in Edo, without any of her family.”

He threw me a sharp glance and reddened slightly. “Don’t get the wrong idea, my relationship with Sai wasn’t like that. I just … I enjoyed her company, that is all.”

I hid a smile and nodded. It didn’t matter now. He wouldn’t be seeing her again.

A thought occurred to me. “Who is paying for all this?” I whispered to Asano.

“Your grandfather. He insisted.”

I shook my head. Grandfather still had the ability to surprise me, at times.

“I can hardly believe it. It is like a dream,” said Asano. “A ronin and a kunoichi bringing down one of the most powerful men in Edo. It seems like something out of a silly kabuki play.”

“We didn’t exactly do it alone,” I replied. “My brother started things, Grandfather ended them, and I seem to remember a secret policeman named Asano who had more than a little to do with it, too.”

Asano shuddered. “Don’t remind me. I still have nightmares about the machi-bugyō’s headquarters.”

Neither of us really felt like talking after that, so we just sat and watched.

I shifted my weight and nudged the tea kettle beside me. I dropped my hand to steady it. Gracia had given it to me after I left Padre Hachiro. It was beautiful, delicate, porcelain. When I protested that I was too clumsy to be trusted with such a fine kettle she told me:

Yes, it is delicate. It must be cared for and cherished just as the people you love must be.

Her words kept coming back to me. If I had ever doubted that I had embarked on a new life, I couldn’t now. I had to make sure I didn’t break the kettle this time.

The priests finished chanting, and the pyres were lit. I hated funerals, and the oppressive nature of my own thoughts finally prompted me to lean over and ask Asano, “Where did you find the bodies?”

His face became grave. “An old beggar, three younger prostitutes. They are always dying these days, even with the relief from the famine. Food prices have dropped quite a bit, but it is too late for many of them. This might be a bit disrespectful treatment of those women, but it is a far finer funeral than they would have otherwise received. I made an anonymous donation to the Temple of the Nameless for some monks to recite sutras for the four women under their own names. I don’t suppose they would mind that we are using their corpses to protect Akiyo-sensei and the girls.”

Asano chuckled. “I opened an ‘investigation’ into the strange things found in a large house in the etamura. Normally we don’t pay much attention to goings-on in that area, but there was clear evidence of shinobi activity. I let it be known that some of the bodies that appeared to be young men were actually women. Speculation has been rife among my informers. I finally asked the other shinobi groups to investigate, so I am certain word has gotten back to the clan that the kunoichi are all dead.”

I nodded approvingly. Asano had covered all the possibilities I could imagine. He was quite talented at the game of intrigue. A useful skill in a secret policeman.

“Do you think Sai will be happy as a shopgirl?” Asano asked.

I laughed. “I give her less than a month before she starts regretting the decision. The life of a chonin is going to bore her.”

Grandfather turned around and looked at us. “Speaking of Sai, how well does that girl read?”

Asano shrugged. “I never had her read anything.”

“Not well, from what I saw at the school,” I answered. An icy fear seized my heart. “Why are you asking? What was in those papers she gave you?”

Asano looked at Grandfather with a worried frown. “You told me there wasn’t anything in them to worry about.”

Grandfather smiled enigmatically. “There isn’t anything you need to worry about ... yet.”

THE END