Autumn Bridge by Takashi Matsuoka

Revenge was the only motivation he really understood, and he assumed all samurai were the same — except Lord Genji, whom Hidé viewed as a unique and awe-inspiring prophet beyond emulation.
    “We had better meet with Lord Saemon,” Genji said to Hidé. “We must act quickly to keep the situation from getting out of hand. Hotheads may decide the time is ripe to begin a war against the outsiders.”
    “Yes, lord. I will assemble the men.”
    “Not necessary. It will be enough if you accompany me.”
    “Lord—” Hidé began, but Genji stopped him.
    “We must demonstrate confidence. A lack of confidence is more dangerous now than a lack of bodyguards.” Genji turned to Emily and said in English, “Did you understand?”
    “The essential parts, yes,” Emily said. “Please be careful.”
    “Always,” Genji said, smiling. He bowed and was gone.
     

     
    Emily returned to the new scroll and went over the opening passage word by word with her dictionary. There was no question that it read,
Lord Narihira learned from the visitor that the arrival of American beauty in Cloud of Sparrows Castle would signal the ultimate triumph of the Okumichi clan.
The presence of the word
American
was what excited her attention upon first reading. But now that Genji had insisted that the visions came only in dreams, the word
visitor
was even more fascinating. Those who came to Quiet Crane Palace to see Genji were referred to as
okyaku-sama
, meaning “guest.” The author of the scroll had used
homonsha
instead. Emily would translate it as “visitor.” More literally, however, homonsha meant “one who calls upon others.”
    Another distinction between the two terms suddenly struck Emily and, for an unaccountable reason, chilled her.
    A guest was invited, or at least expected.
    A visitor was not necessarily either.
     

     
    All during his series of meetings with the council of Great Lords, Genji’s thoughts kept slipping back to Emily.
    He was the one leaving the daily rose for Emily, of course. Though nothing had been said, he assumed she knew that he was aware of her feelings. Surely she believed he felt friendship for her and nothing more. All of his behavior was of that kind. Was he assuming too much? Had Emily been Japanese, he would have felt complete confidence in his assumptions. She was very distinctly not Japanese, however, and so he was certain of nothing. Well, almost nothing. He knew she loved him. Unlike Genji, Emily was entirely incapable of convincing dissimulation.
    But his performance could not continue indefinitely. Today, during their midday meal together, he had been painfully aroused by the mere sight of her eating — the movement of her mouth, the way her graceful hands held the sandwich, the way her lips parted a moment before the rim of the teacup reached them. If such mundane acts excited him so much that he could not speak, it was clear that he had reached the very limit of his self-control.
    His feelings, if known to her, would inevitably free her from restraining the expression of her own. This would culminate, according to the prophetic warning he had received, in her early doom. In that dream, Genji had received a vision of Emily’s death in childbirth. She would insure the survival of the clan and, in doing so, would die. Genji could not accept it. He refused to think of it as an inevitability, as every vision of his grandfather’s had been, but as a warning. His grandfather had received exact premonitions. Genji chose to believe his were warnings. So he was heeding the warning. He would not allow himself to get any closer to Emily than this make-believe secret admiration.
    Emily would shortly receive offers of marriage from both Lieutenant Farrington, the American naval attaché, and Charles Smith, the sugar planter and cattle rancher from the Hawaiian Kingdom. Emily did not know that Genji knew this. She did not know that he had befriended each of the men precisely because he saw that they were