The Ends of the Earth (33 page)

‘When will you leave?’

‘Malory and Chiyoko will take this evening’s sleeper. Sam and I follow tomorrow. As for Laskaris and le Singe, that’s up to them. But I have Laskaris’s word they’ll be in Kobe by Wednesday. And I don’t intend to make a move before you leave the country.’

‘And you also don’t intend to make a move if either Chiyoko’s brother or the Dragonfly lets you down?’

‘Those are Laskaris’s terms for agreeing to le Singe’s involvement.’

‘And are they
your
terms for going ahead?’

Max said nothing. He and Morahan exchanged a long, frank look.

‘I thought not.’

‘She’s my mother, Schools. What do you expect me to do?’

‘Go it alone if you have to. Not that Sam will let you. But here’s the thing, Max. What about Malory? She’ll probably stick by you however suicidal the attempt ends up being.’

‘I promise you I’ll get her to safety.’

‘You can’t promise that.’

‘I’ll make sure she’s not in danger. You have my word.’

‘That’d be worth more if we didn’t both know she’s well capable of putting herself in danger whatever you do. But let’s shake on it anyhow.’

Max walked across to the bed and took Morahan’s hand.

‘Good luck, Max.’

‘Thanks.’

‘I can’t imagine how you must feel after discovering it’s your own mother Henry was setting out to rescue. It’s a helluva thing.’

‘Yes.’ Max nodded. ‘A hell of a thing is exactly what it is.’

MALORY AND CHIYOKO
caught the sleeper train to Kyoto that evening. No one saw them off. Their plan relied on making themselves as inconspicuous as possible. Malory suspected Chiyoko’s mother had argued violently against her going, but it had done no good, as Malory could have predicted. A strong vein of stubbornness ran through Chiyoko’s small frame. She recognized the rightness of what they were doing.

They did not speak of Junzaburo during the journey, though he was much in Malory’s thoughts, as she felt sure he was in Chiyoko’s. Neither had seen him in more than a decade, in Malory’s case more than two decades. He was a monk now, at the temple of Joyaku-ji, in Nara. He had made peace with the life he had left behind, the life in which he had served Tomura’s devious ends – and had loved Malory.

It was cruel, in its way, to wrench him out of the sanctuary he had found. But there was no choice. They could not stand aside. And Junzaburo had already agreed to help Jack Farngold. He would agree to help them as well. Malory was sure of it.

But helping Jack Farngold would not have involved meeting Malory again. There was an infinity of good reasons why they should not meet again. But what mattered was the one good reason why they should.

Max and Sam left Tokyo the following morning. They had plenty of time to talk on the train, but were content mostly to smoke and watch the scenery drift by in companionable silence.

Sam devoted a good deal of attention to a map of Japan and its near neighbours he had insisted they buy, with place names marked in English as well as Japanese. Max noticed him plotting distances by reference to the scale and knew exactly what he was trying to calculate. But neither spoke of the eventuality he was preparing for.

‘I’m glad you’re here, Sam,’ Max said, when they left the train to stretch their legs during a lengthy stop at Hamamatsu.

‘Me too, sir.’

‘Still hoping we’ll open that flying school?’

‘Haven’t ruled it out.’

‘I think you must have been born optimistic, you know.’

‘Born hungry, my ma says. Talking of which, why don’t we buy a couple of those lunch boxes they’re hawking?’ He pointed to the vendors walking along the platform, offering refreshments to the passengers on the train. ‘Oh, cripes. Sorry, sir. Gassing on about my mother like that. It was …’

‘Don’t worry.’ Max clapped him on the back. ‘I’m not about to crack up over this.’

‘No. ’Course not. Malory and Chiyoko should be in Nara by now.’

‘That they should. So, to stop you wondering how they’re getting on, let’s get some lunch. Just think, Sam. There might be some beer in those boxes.’

Sam brightened. ‘I suppose there might.’

‘See what I mean? Born optimistic.’

From Kyoto, Malory and Chiyoko took a local train south to Nara. Malory had been there once in the company of Miss Dubb. She remembered it as peculiarly infertile ground for Lutheran missionaries, rich as it was in Buddhist temples and Shinto shrines. It had been the Japanese capital for a while, back in early medieval times, and wore an air of placid antiquity.

Several of the temples, including Joyaku-ji, were located in Nara Park, a sprawling expanse of ponds, groves and deer-cropped lawns east of the railway station. Chiyoko confessed as they approached Joyaku-ji that she did not know how her request to see Junzaburo would be received. It would never have occurred to her to visit him there in normal circumstances. But these were not – as she intended to emphasize – normal circumstances.

Joyaku-ji was typical of many Buddhist temples Malory had seen, with grand gateways, sweeping gables and a magnificent five-storey pagoda at its centre. A pair of fearsome, snarling
Nio
guardians flanked the main gate. They encountered an orange-robed monk just inside and Chiyoko explained why they were there. The monk looked solicitous and fretful in equal measures. He bustled off.

‘He said we should wait here,’ Chiyoko revealed.

And wait they did, for ten or more minutes, watched by the statues. This allowed ample time to wonder what they would do if Junzaburo simply refused to see them. Chiyoko had identified herself as his sister, but had not revealed Malory’s name to the monk. Surely Junzaburo would never guess she of all people had come in search of him.

At one point, she had the disquieting impression Junzaburo was observing them from some spy-hole in one of the surrounding buildings. She tried to dismiss the idea as absurd, with only limited success. Eventually, the monk returned.

He pointed back along the avenue by which they had approached the temple as he spoke and Chiyoko glanced in that direction as he did so. Malory thought she caught the words
ike
– pond – but also
ikemasen
– must not; do not. The monk was not smiling, as he had initially, which hardly seemed a good omen.

He had already turned and begun to walk away when Chiyoko supplied a translation. ‘He says we are to wait on the far side of the pond beside the maple grove we passed. Junzaburo will come to us there.
If
he comes. There was something … disapproving … in the way the monk spoke. I am not sure I understand. But I think Junzaburo will come.’

For her part, Malory did not know what to think. She would very much have liked to smoke a cigarette to calm her nerves, but somehow it seemed the wrong thing to do. They retreated along the avenue to the pond.

It was a rounded square of peaceful lily-patched water in which the adjacent maples were brightly mirrored. Malory and Chiyoko took up their station, as instructed, on the side farthest from the temple, and waited.

The wait turned out to be more than sufficient for Malory to recall many long-forgotten incidents from her relationship with Junzaburo. The sunlight shafting through the maples reminded her of the sunlight shafting through the window of their room at the
onsen
hotel in Hakone; and of the smile on Junzaburo’s face as he woke and realized she was there.

The early autumn of 1895: such a long, long time ago. She found it hard to imagine she had ever been so young. But she had. So had Junzaburo.

The orange-robed, shaven-headed figure who eventually approached the other side of the pond was not young, however. At that distance, with the light between them thrown up from the water, she could not have said with any certainty that it was Junzaburo. His face was in shadow. Only the set of his shoulders told her it was him.

They stood, regarding each other. More minutes slowly passed. Junzaburo made no move. ‘We should walk round to him,’ Malory whispered.

‘
Hai
,’ Chiyoko responded, forgetting to speak English in the stress of the moment.

They started moving. Immediately, Junzaburo responded with a loud clap that brought them to a halt. He pointed at them and raised his index finger.

‘I think he means … only one of us should go,’ said Chiyoko.

‘Yes,’ said Malory. And it was clear to her which one it was to be. ‘You go. I’ll stay here … until he calls for me.’

And so she stayed, while Chiyoko walked slowly round the perimeter of the pond to where Junzaburo was waiting.

The reunion of brother and sister was a strange and hesitant coming together. They did not cry out or embrace. They spoke with heads bowed but close together. Malory had no clue as to what was passing between them. Then Chiyoko laid her head briefly on Junzaburo’s shoulder. He raised his hand, as if to stroke her hair. But he did not do so. He glanced across the pond at Malory, his expression unreadable, his thoughts veiled.

Brother and sister stood a little apart then and talked, it seemed, with greater intensity.

Malory did not know how long this continued. It seemed like only a few minutes, but might well have been more. Then Junzaburo bowed, turned and walked away.

Malory watched him striding towards the sanctuary of the temple. He did not once look back. He was stronger than the Junzaburo she had known. He was a remade man. She was glad of that. But, somewhere within herself, she was also sorry.

‘He will do it.’ Chiyoko’s words made Malory start, unaware she had already rejoined her.

‘He will?’

‘He will lead Max to the tunnel. He will show him the way in. He will travel to Kyoto tomorrow and lodge at the temple of Minami Hongan-ji. Max can find him there.’

‘He’ll willingly do this?’

‘Oh yes. As he would have done for Jack Farngold. It is …
tadashi.
It is his duty. He cannot act against Tomura himself. But he will help the son of Tomura’s wife as he would have helped her brother.’

‘Why wouldn’t he speak to me?’

‘He had little time. He could not—’

‘Please tell me the truth, Chiyoko.’

‘I am sorry.’ Chiyoko fell silent for a moment. Her gaze dropped. Then she looked at Malory directly. ‘He is an enlightened one now, Malory. Perhaps you do not understand. He is free of anger and desire. He has found peace. You – your presence – disturbs that. He said …’

‘What did he say?’

‘That once he would have rejoiced to see you again. Once it was all he dreamt of. But that was
samsara
– the wheel of suffering. And he is no longer bound to the wheel. He will help Max. But he will not speak to you. I am sorry.’

‘So am I. But we shouldn’t be, should we?’ Malory glanced towards the temple where the orange-robed figure of Junzaburo was walking in through the gate. Sunlight glittered on the spire of the pagoda above him. ‘We should be glad for him.’

MAX AND SAM
spent that night at Nagoya, in the same
ryokan
where Max had stayed on his way to Tokyo from Nagasaki the week before. He did not fail to be amused by Sam’s consternation at the bathing arrangements.

‘There’s a young lady in there who I swear hasn’t got a stitch on, sir,’ Sam complained, retreating from a first foray to the bathroom.

‘Are you planning to climb in in your underpants, then?’

‘’Course not.’

‘Well, there you are. When in Rome, Sam.’

They were en route, but they had not arrived. Max found the thought strangely comforting as he drifted off to sleep, with Sam already snoring on the other side of the room. He did not know what awaited them in Kyoto. It was impossible even to guess. But he knew
who
awaited them.

They resumed their journey early the following morning, reaching Kyoto in the early afternoon. They found Malory and Chiyoko in the station waiting room, where they had whiled away a couple of hours since arriving from Nara.

It was Max’s first meeting with Chiyoko. And it began with the most vital question of all: would her brother help them?

‘Yes, Maxted-san. He will.’

‘Then we’re in business. And please call me Max.’

‘Very well … Max.’

‘You know Sam.’

‘Of course.’

‘I think he may have some work for you to do.’

‘I’ll tell you about it later, Chiyoko,’ said Sam.

She frowned at him in puzzlement, then at Max. ‘Malory says we are going to Seifu-so. Is that true?’

‘Yes. And the sooner we go the better. We shouldn’t be seen together in public places.’

‘But nobody knows we are here.’

‘Then let’s keep it that way.’

They took a motor-taxi to Marquess Saionji’s villa. Unlike Tokyo, Kyoto’s streets were laid out in a grid pattern. They followed one of the tram routes due north through the jumbled cityscape, following the boundary wall of the old Imperial Palace in the latter part of the journey.

‘You sure about this, sir?’ Sam whispered to Max at some point. ‘I mean, you’ve never actually met Grand Duke Saionji, have you?’

‘Marquess. And yes, I’m sure we need to lie low. He told Kuroda we could stay under his roof. Anywhere else we’ll be conspicuous. And that we can’t afford to be.’

Sam sighed. ‘Right you are, sir.’

Seifu-so lay on the other side of the Kamo-gawa river from the old Imperial Palace, but not far from it, as befitted the residence of a man who had, according to Chiyoko, been a childhood playmate of the Meiji Emperor. She was astonished at the idea of enjoying such an eminent man’s hospitality. And her astonishment did not end there. ‘He must have known you would come here.’

‘Yes,’ murmured Max. ‘Before I knew myself.’

The villa lay behind a high wall, surrounded by a verdant garden, manicured in the Japanese style. It comprised several linked buildings spread out across the property, elegantly proportioned, with wide verandahs and mellow-wooded pillars. They were received at the gate by a senior servant called Umezu, a portly, impassive fellow who spoke only rudimentary English. Chiyoko explained to him who they were, but, despite much bowing, it was clear he required sight of Max’s passport before admitting them. Once satisfied as to Max’s identity, he overflowed with solicitude, arranging tea while guest quarters were prepared. Marquess Saionji had sent word that James Maxted and any companions travelling with him were to be shown every consideration.