The Memory Painter

The first picture reached out and stole his heart. Michael was holding Diana in his arms as her wedding dress trailed to the ground, forming a pond of frilly lace. Bryan smiled, remembering how she had worn her mother’s gown because they couldn’t afford a new one. It was originally three sizes too big, and the seamstress who had altered it had messed up twice before producing something wearable. Next to the beaming couple, Doc, Conrad, and Finn stood in seventies tuxedos alongside Diana’s bridesmaids. Everyone made funny faces at the camera.

Bryan stared at the portrait, captivated by the joy it contained, and the question played in his mind like a broken record.

What went wrong?



FIFTEEN

EDO, JAPAN

APRIL 21, 1701

Lord Asano, Daimyo of the Province of Ako, woke with a start, knowing he must have been dreaming. He had been standing on top of a mountain, with clouds swirling around his feet. In the mist a woman was seated on top of a boulder, still as stone.

At first Asano had thought the woman was a statue of a strange goddess, but when he moved closer, he saw her breathing. She was the most exotic creature he had ever seen, and she reminded him of a portrait that a Dutch trader had once shown him from his travels to a place called Egypt. Her long black hair had been plated into braids that cascaded over her shoulders, and her eyes were decoratively lined in black kohl and emerald powder. Gold and precious jewels adorned her body, holding an intricately knotted robe in place that shimmered like a blue Akoya pearl.

Asano had hesitated to speak. The luminous stranger appeared to be in deep meditation, but then she had opened her eyes and said, “Yes, I see you too.”

Then Asano had awoken.

This was not the first night during Lord Asano’s stay in Edo that had brought poor sleep and strange dreams. He hated the city and his obligation to attend the Shogun’s court. Today would be his last for the year, and then he and his wife could return home to their castle at Ako. He just needed to make it through the ceremony.

The thought brought on a surge of anxiety. Under normal circumstances, Asano would only observe the pomp at court, but his name had been drawn to be the Shogun’s official representative at the reception for the Emperors’ envoys. The Emperor’s ministers rarely visited, so it was crucial that everything be perfect.

Asano had tried to excuse himself from the assigned duty, implying that he was a simple country lord who knew nothing of the ways of court. The truth was that he was a private man who could not shoulder the mental burden of having to perform duties in such a severely formal ceremony. He was also currently unwell and suffering from a cold, his third in as many months. But the court had denied his request and placed him under the tutelage of Lord Kira, the Shogun’s Master of Ceremonies—and a man Asano despised. To Asano, the bribe-taking bureaucrat embodied everything wrong with the decadence that was drowning Edo.

Lord Kira expected Asano to pay him for his guidance, which Asano had no intention of doing. Even though Asano was only a young lord of thirty-five, he still adhered to the old ways and lived by a samurai’s code of honor. He knew Kira was already well paid by the court, and he would not give in. The animosity between the two men had reached a boiling point, and as the hour of the reception drew near, Asano grew more nervous about his decision. Kira had the power to make him look like a fool.

The morning light crept into the room, scattering Asano’s thoughts. He might as well get up and begin the painstaking process of putting on his ceremonial robes. It would make the day’s end seem closer.

Once dressed, he took his palanquin to the castle. He sat enclosed within the ornate litter’s small box, which was hanging from a long pole that was carried by four men—two in the front and two in the back. A man walked in front of them, proudly holding a banner with the clan’s kamon. The crest on the flag was the only way anyone could discern which lord was inside.

Asano could barely tolerate the suffocating space with all the jostling. His head was throbbing and his stomach felt hollow. Maneuvering through the market was always an annoyance—to both the lord and the people of Edo. Whenever a lord’s entourage went past, everyone on the street—merchants, farmers, and beggars alike—had to stop, drop to their knees, and bow. They were not even allowed to lift their eyes to watch the procession.

Even with his passage cleared, it still took all morning to reach the Shogun’s castle. When he arrived at the inner sanctuary, Asano exited the palanquin with relief and made his way to the Hall of the Thousand Mats. He greeted the other lords who had arrived early. They were all forced participants. Everyone but Asano had paid Kira to enlist his help in getting through today’s spectacle, and they all gave him calculated looks, wondering how the young, handsome lord would fare.