"Hearn,.Lian.-.Otori.02.-.Grass.For.His.Pillow.v1.1" - читать интересную книгу автора (Hearn Lian)

Her eyes opened.

It was still light. The shadows told her it was evening. A wind bell
rang softly, once, and then the air was still. The day she had no
recollection of must have been a warm one. Her skin was damp
beneath her hair. Birds were chattering from the eaves, and she
could hear the clip of the swallows’ beaks as they caught the last
insects of the day. Soon they would fly south. It was already
autumn.

The sound of the birds reminded her of the painting Takeo had
given her, many weeks before, at this same place, a sketch of a
wild forest bird that had made her think of freedom; it had been lost
along with everything else she possessed, her wedding robes, all
her other clothes, when the castle at Inuyama burned. She
possessed nothing. Shizuka had found some old robes for her at
the house they had stayed in, and had borrowed combs and other
things. She had never been in such a place before, a merchant’s
house, smelling of fermenting soy, full of people, whom she tried
to keep away from, though every now and then the maids came to
peep at her through the screens. She was afraid everyone would
see what had happened to her on the night the castle fell. She had
killed a man, she had lain with another, she had fought alongside
him, wielding the dead man’s sword. She could not believe she
had done these things. Sometimes she thought she was
bewitched, as people said. They said of her that any man who
desired her died—and it was true. Men had died. But not Takeo.

Ever since she had been assaulted by the guard when she was a
hostage in Noguchi Castle, she had been afraid of all men. Her
terror of Iida had driven her to defend herself against him, but she
had no fear of Takeo. She had only wanted to hold him closer.
Since their first meeting in Tsuwano, her body had longed for his.
She had wanted him to touch her, she had wanted the feel of his
skin against hers. Now, as she remembered that night, she
understood with renewed clarity that she could marry no one but
him, she would love no one but him. I will be patient, she promised.
But where had those words come from?

She turned her head slightly and saw Shizuka’s outline on the edge
of the veranda. Beyond the woman rose the ancient trees of the
shrine. The air smelled of cedars and dust. The temple bell tolled
the evening hour. Kaede did not speak. She did not want to talk to
anyone, or hear any voice. She wanted to go back to that place of
ice where she had been sleeping.

Then, beyond the specks of dust that floated in the last rays of the
sun, she saw something: a spirit, she thought, yet not only a spirit,
for it had substance; it was there, undeniable and real, gleaming