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ness as they maneuvered； as they stared down the dark tunnels of each other's souls。
〃Yes；〃 the pockmarked sensei said with no hint of the disappointment he felt at the defeat of even one of his pupils at her hand。 〃You'll do here； Ofuda…san。〃
Afterward； Saigo suggested that they go out to dinner。 The slumbering young woman who he had brought home the night before had been transferred to his futon。 Akiko had made no ment about that nor about the fact that she never ate and barely opened her eyes during the daylight hours。 Drugged she had been and drugged she stayed。
Saigo said nothing at the restaurant； picking disinterestedly at his yellowfin sashimi and daikon salad for the longest time。 Life went on around them in a dizzying explosion of drinking and forced gaiety； as if these people who worked so hard and long during the day at the giant factories just beyond the town felt pelled to cram a week's worth of carousing into a single evening。
Akiko saw many women who were in the same profession that her mother had been in。 These were of a different level； of course； but the end remained the same。 Observing them made her feel odd； as if she were back in Fuyajo； peeking through gaps in bedroom walls during the endless nights。
Yet she felt as if she had changed； for it occurred to her that her mother's utter refinement was but a facade； that in some unfathomable way she was no better than these women here who lacked status； dignity； and； ultimately； that most precious of all Japanese modities； honor。
Dean had had no family； no ancestors she wished to honor； no husband to protect her； through whom she could guide her own destiny and that of her progeny。 She had only Akiko； and that responsibility had been too great for her。
For she； like these women now； lacked a future into which a child could grow； prosper； and find herself。
〃Akiko…san。〃
She shifted her attention back to him。 〃Hai？〃
〃Why didn't you do it？〃
She knew what he was talking about but perhaps it would be good for him to say it。 〃I don't know what you mean； Saigo…san。〃
He thought about that for a moment。 〃You could have defeated me in our confrontation at the dojo。 Yet you chose not to。〃
She shook her head。 〃Please believe me。 I could not stand against you。〃
〃I felt it。〃
Her dark eyes held his shadowed ones。 〃What you felt； perhaps； Saigo…san； was your intense anxiety not to be defeated in front of your peers。 Honor rules you； it is your weapon and your fear。 How could I possibly strip you of either？〃
Now； three weeks later； trodding the snow strewn aisles between rows of dreaming orange trees awaiting next year's sun； Akiko knew that she had taken the right path。
Michi。 It was the Japanese word for path； but it could also mean a journey； as well as duty； the unknown； a stranger。
Akiko abruptly felt that she must be the first person on earth to have e upon a situation in which all of the word's meanings were in play simultaneously。 For her life with Saigo was tinged with all these things； and it was impossible for her to say where one left off and the other began。
Silently they passed a stand of tall； whipthin bamboo。 A branch of one older tree was heavily laden with ice…crusted snow。 Surely at any moment it must break beneath its burden。 But no。 The gusting wind caused the branch to bob up and down and such was the resilient nature of the wood that at length the branch sprang upward and like the finest of bows loosed its charge。 Snow in a fine spray dusted the cold air； powdering down upon them in bracing fashion。 And in its wake they saw the branch of the bamboo now free of excess weight。
They passed on； shoulders hunched； bunched hands in the pockets of their coats while the wind continued to whistle by overhead。
Within the shelter of a dense copse of pines Saigo stopped them。 A river sang merrily to their left and below them。 From this interior space it was impossible to see either the industrial sprawl beyond Kumamoto or even the looming presence of Mount Aso with its plume of pumice and hot ash。 It was possible to believe for a moment that one could be divorced from such things； that the heavily layered structuralism of life had momentarily disappeared。
Turning his back to the gnarled trunk of one great grandfather tree； Saigo slid down until he was on his haunches。 Akiko knelt beside him at right angles。 He did not turn toward her but continued ？ to stare straight ahead at the puzzle of crisscrossing branches； white with snow and ice。
Akiko stared at his proud profile。 In many ways he was still an enigma to her。 But then she suspected that he was even more of an enigma to himself。 Though he was inordinately introspective for a young man； it was not self…examination that occupied him。 The eternal flame of his hate had to be nurtured and； on occasion； fanned。 Akiko suspected quite rightly that with the cessation of his hatred Saigo would perish。 It was his primary nourishment； mother's milk to his spirit。
Already she suspected that he was wholly evil。 Yet she was drawn to him。 Was it despite this knowledge or because of it？ She felt frightened when she was near him； as if the blight eating away at his soul was contagious。 But at the same time she felt a distinct lessening of the anomie which at times buffeted her spirit with the viciousness of a riptide。
With Saigo she felt that she belonged。 Time and place coalesced into meaning； for he had the spirit of the outlaw not the outcast； which she had always assumed herself to be。 An outcast had no status； no dignity； no honor。 She recalled her feelings that night in the restaurant when she saw the geisha with their snapping black teeth and faces coated with white rice flour。
It occurred to her then that she thought about Ikan infrequently； and then it was with a painful lurch as if she were fighting to disengage herself from a particularly loathsome creature。 Ikan had no status save that of tayu oiran； which； of course； was meaningless outside the Yoshiwara。 Ever since Akiko had escaped from there； her contempt for courtesans was boundless。
Had not Ikan been sold into what was； effectively； slavery？ Had not the very fact that she had worked in the happy field rendered her undesirable as a wife？ Where was the dignity in this way of life？ Where was the honor？
Akiko could not even summon up anger at her mother； her emotions had gone beyond the stage where she resented Lean's inability to accept her。 She felt only contempt for what her mother had been； what she had done。
Ikan had been an outcast； and without even knowing it Akiko had cast herself in the same mold。 But now Saigo had shown her that there was another path she could take。 For an outlaw possessed status； dignity； and honor。 Japan's ancient tradition of the nobility of failure…the triumph of ideals over actions…proved this beyond any doubt。
Beside her； Saigo felt a spasm grip him。 He felt as if something inside him were being pulled in opposite directions。 Spite surged within him； and a fulminating desire to hurt her。 〃There must be an ending；〃 he said。
The wind snatched at his words； sent them hurtling among the snow laden pines。 Still he did not turn toward her。 There was a