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his children to have the benefits he had never had。
So it was settled； much to the relief of the headmaster since a great deal of pressure had been put on him by Protorov himself to bring Tanya to his academy。 Quite naturally； her parents and Tanya herself had no idea of the skew of the new school's curriculum。
After she arrived there and discovered where she was and what she would be made into； she dutifully wrote home every week。 Never did she hint to her parents or to anyone else； for that matter； as to the academy's true nature； though in truth； perhaps； she longed to tell her father； knowing how proud he would be and how this knowledge might help assuage the terrible ache he felt inside from Mikhail's betrayal。
Protorov。 She tried him from the airport while waiting for her one bag to e through； then again when she reached the pulsing overpopulated heart of Tokyo。 She used the four…digit access code and received the same answer both times： dead air。
That in itself was not alarming； but Pyotr Alexandrovitch Rus…silov's presence at her hotel was。 She registered； had her bag sent up to her room； then allowed the lieutenant to guide her back outside where they strolled amid jostling throngs of gray…suited men carrying black rolled umbrellas just as if they were Londoners。 Many wore white masks over nose and mouth； an increasingly mon sight in this city。
Tanya judged that Russilov did not look at all good。 His color was pale and he had picked up a nervous habit sometime recently of turning his head to see what was happening behind him。 She liked none of this。
But she liked even less what he had e south to tell her。
Her skin was like crepe； the most delicate of rice paper crumpled beneath a powerful fist； translucent still even after seventy…nine years。
〃I will be eighty tomorrow；〃 she told him。 There was no pride in her voice； merely wonder that life could last so long。
Even now she was one of the most beautiful creatures he had
ever seen。 As a child he had often pared her beauty to his mother's。 He had always found her perfect symmetry losing out to Cheong's more exotic beauty。 It was natural； perhaps； for him to be loyal to his mother。 But mere had been something more： he had hated her for being Saigo's mother； and was blinded。
〃Is there anything else I can get you？〃 Itami asked。
His head was lowered。 〃No； Haha…san。〃 Mother。 Much had passed between them for him to be able to call her that； from the time he had e stumbling to the portals of her house。
She lived where she always had ever since he had known her； on the outskirts of Tokyo； to the northwest； not far from the spot where Sato and Akiko had been married。 Nicholas had made an arduous journey south from Hokkaido； breaking into a clothing store at night and； armed with fresh clothes and some money； trekking down to Hakodate。 He could have stolen a car but did not want to leave such a clear trail to those who might follow or even for the police who would inevitably investigate the break…in at the clothing store。 They would pursue their investigation with the assiduousness with which the Japanese approached every task。 The less he gave them； the more secure he felt。
He used buses occasionally and； when he was able； hitched rides。 He avoided both main highways and railways； however； knowing trails were more easily left there。
At last； at the southern coastal town he took the ferry across Tsugarukaikyo to Aomori on Honshu's rocky northern tip。
Lacking papers； he could not rent a car； and in any event preferred to utilize buses again； heading roughly south in a zigzag； nonlinear route。
He had been terrified at the thought of seeing his aunt again。 It was he who had murdered her only child； it had been Nicholas' father who had garrotted her husband； for which Saigo had in turn poisoned the Colonel and； years later； had pursued Nicholas all the way to New York。
He did not know how she would greet him； he could not imagine what he could possibly say to her。 What were words…any words… in the face of the finality of death。 Nicholas thought that the words 〃I'm sorry〃 were perhaps the most inadequate in the English language。 But there was nothing much better in Japanese or in any of the world's tongues for that matter。
The house was built by an architect who had been elderly when Itami and her husband； Satsugai； had missioned him。 He revered the old styles of the seventeenth century； which； he had said； were still the best。 Time was their proof； had been their victory。
He had designed this house after one in Kyoto called Katsura Rikyu； an imperial villa from four hundred years ago which was still the finest example of the blending of the manmade with the natural to be found in all of Japan。
〃What I try to do；〃 the old man had said； 〃is to impose my spirit upon nature so that it appears to remain natural。〃
That the result of his handiwork was exquisite in the Japanese sense of the word was without question。 Perhaps too many of these details had been too subtle for Nicholas' mind when he was younger for he had not loved the house as a whole but only one room： the one in which the chano…yu was performed。
And it was to this room that he was conducted after he had been met at the door by servants； Itami informed of his arrival； bathed； and his hurts attended to by a bent old man who spoke to himself in a constant singsong but who nevertheless knew what he was doing。
Feeling better than he had in many days； Nicholas knelt alone in the room； turned toward the garden outside。 The opening was all the length of the room and perhaps six feet high。 However； the top half was covered by a rice…paper latticework screen； so that only the bottom part of the garden could be viewed while being immersed in the tea ceremony。 It was a peculiarly Zen concept： to have as part of your surroundings the wonders of nature； yet only so much。 Beyond that invisible boundary； it was felt； one would have been overwhelmed by the bittersweet delicacy of the cherry blossoms or the flamboyant fan of autumnal foliage and thus the concentration one needed for chano…yu…the harmony of this place…would have been broken。
Sunlight； splintered by the trees； splattered against the lattice； turning it the color of newly churned butter； warming the room in tone and temperature。 A lone bird strode through the pebbles of the garden； pecking here and there。
A breeze sprang up and rustled the tops of the cryptomeria； making soft shadows move behind the screen； on the polished wood floor。 Nicholas shuddered inwardly； remembering the trembling flight on the hito washi； the ruffling of his tattered clothes like pinfeathers； the rush of the night against his face； the fear that the inconstant wind might die in midgust； sending him diving hard against stands of bamboo。
Exhilaration and terror mingled within him like liquor； tingling his blood。
He was exhausted again。 Physically the drugs had been dissipated； eliminated from his system。 Yet their accumulated effect on muscles； tissue； and brain still lingered。 Exercise was the only remedy for that。
She came into his sight with a stiff rustle of silk。 He rose and bowed； his heart in his throat。 He was overe