The Pillow Book of the Flower Samurai (18 page)

VI. Metamorphosis

Despite Hitomi’s ban, Akio and I worked with my bow and my
bokken
. Every day I went to the small practice areas within this Village of Outcasts. My three-cross relationship improved. Akio made me work more on the first part of the full draw. I pushed the bow to the left as my right elbow folded. I moved my arrow to half its length and my right hand was above and forward of my forehead. Tashiko also taught me more dances and music, especially the
koto
, the big one, thirteen strings. But the stories, dancing and music were not enough.

Rin said, ‘You need education if you are going to be in my group.’ She moved her large sleeve up to her large mouth and twittered, ‘Both of you.’ True, Tashiko and I kept each other’s company except in the customers’ houses.

Rin’s laugh reminded me that she and Hitomi removed large amounts of the cloth and rice grateful customers gave me. Her big nostrils flared as she trumped up my supposed failure to sing new songs, use
sutra
s in my songs, or sing old ones. Their titters over wealth taken from me were the jarring cries of crows.

‘First, you must look like courtly women,’ Rin informed us. ‘High society, the ranking Taira Clan members from Rokuhara and even from Heian-kyō, visits, not just men from nearby
sh
ō
en
and villages.’

Rin squinted. ‘Oh, I forgot. You,’ she scowled, leaning towards me, ‘are from the country. Rokuhara is where the high-ranking Taira Clan
kuge
live. It is a huge city, with a great many mansions. Temples and shrines surround it. Many priests and monks come here from there, as you will see.

‘
Ohaguro
– it is used in higher ranks,’ Hitomi said, in a high, affected voice, through her blackened teeth. My spirit drooped to know I had to under go this process repeatedly to keep my teeth ‘attractively’ dark. A new tooth-darkening box, lacquered with a plum-tree design, consoled me only a little. The rest of the makeup was familiar, white rice powder for faces and rouge for cheeks and lips. The makeup the Women-for-Play used was better quality than the serving girls were given. We stored makeup in our toilet boxes. Tashiko called it her hand box, because our hands used the combs and applied the powder and rouge. She bolstered my spirits with her jests.

Next, Rin insisted we pull all the hairs from our eyebrows and paste dots of soot in the middle of our foreheads. In a moment of goodwill, or perhaps because we had been spitting black gall all day, Rin told us a story about ‘The Girl Who Loved Insects’. Not only did this girl love insects, but she refused to pluck her eyebrows or blacken her teeth, and repelled her suitors with her gleaming, savage, coarse teeth. She never married, or so Rin said.

When she had finished the story, Rin put her hands on her ample hips and ordered, ‘You are to do this also. This is what all the courtiers do in Heian-kyō.’ Her eyes went sharp.

When we were alone Tashiko whispered to me, ‘What a poor storyteller Rin is.’

Studying songs, especially the modern-style songs and dances, I practised the
koto
with the other Women-for-Play. Tashiko already played well.

For the rest of our ‘education’ Rin sent us to an ageing woman. Tashiko named her Otafukure. In her playful way Tashiko combined the words ‘Otafuku’, the God of Female Sexual Appetite, and ‘
fukure
’, an old woman. She showed me the characters.

Otafukure’s skin appeared as transparent as rice paper against sunlight. Her white hair hung in thin strands to the floor in her hut. She taught us reading and writing and we studied
The Handbook of Recipes
, a Chinese book. The pages had yellowed as teeth will without
ohaguro
.

Otafukure delighted in teaching us ‘the art of joy’, the Chinese recipes.

We learned names for parts of our bodies. She had us point, touch and name each part before we could continue the rest of the lessons. We studied all aspects of the Jade Stalk, the Positive Peak, the male part. The female parts included the Jewel Terrace, the Jade Veins, the Jade Gate and its Golden Gully. Otafukure emphasised the Cinnabar Cleft. This was in a woman’s interior part, surrounded by the Koto Strings that grew outside.

Giggling, Tashiko played with my Koto Strings until Otafukure said, ‘Stop this nonsense. Your life and your livelihood depend upon this knowledge . . . and its applications.’

We practised Propelling of the Peak in at least a dozen different ways. We used an artificial Jade Stalk, a
harigata
. Otafukure greased it, although it was so worn it did not need any preparation. With strips of cloth she tied it on to whoever was the man. The first time she tied it on to herself – she looked so funny that it was a while before she could stop us laughing.

The positions all had curious names: Bamboos at the Altar, Rat and Mouse in a Hole. Otafukure liked Double-headed Fish best and requested it most often. For this we lay facing up at each other with legs crossing over thighs. The
harigata
moved in and out, and our legs looked like fish fins. We truly appeared as a fish with two heads! This became my favourite.

When I saw Tashiko’s face as Otafukure and I were practising the Double-headed Fish, her eyes flashed a strange look, the look I remembered from when I had first met her, when Chiba had first complimented me and not her. After that, I always insisted on practising Double-headed Fish with Tashiko, never Otafukure.

Tashiko and I learned to satisfy Otafukure with the
harigata
. She sang delightful wordless songs. Otafukure clearly indicated she was willing to barter more Chinese writing if either of us could make her sing these songs, but I think she preferred us together. I wanted to learn Chinese, but did not until Tashiko agreed to learn Chinese too.

I learned much Chinese.

VII. Backward Blessing

Tashiko and I went to the bathhouse after work to remove the men’s stench. If the stable girls saw us arrive, they ignored us, much as we ignored them. I thought they were the lucky ones, despite their hard work and long hours.

On the way to the bathhouse we searched for the laundry people, for Aya. She grinned when we passed, but others averted their eyes. If no one else was about, Aya hugged me. Sometimes I told her a quick story. Tashiko and I went inside, scrubbed each other, talking about the work, men, songs, dances and especially clothes. How I loved the clothes!

Our conversation never included the marks and slashes. A few men enjoyed inflicting pain. She saw my bruises, and I certainly saw hers.

Some liked to hold us down. Some used ropes to tie us. Some cut us to see the blood, which Rin permitted, provided it was not noticeable for our next customers and did not scar. A few brought other men to join them. Some wanted two women.

With Tashiko’s gentle tutoring, I found I could endure this, too. She spoke of the Four Noble Truths of the Buddha. She taught me that all life was suffering. Nothing in this world was real. All was transitory. The release from this suffering was the Eight-fold Noble Path, just as I had learned from Akio.

I made a song of the Eight-fold Noble Path so Aya and others could learn it too. Tashiko and I often sang this song scrubbing each other’s backs. She loved to teach it to everyone around her.

Otafukure died after the season’s solstice,
setsubun
. The evening before, the celebrations had roared through the village. Everywhere there were cries of ‘
Oni
! Ogre! Go out!’ and ‘Happiness enter.’ Some Women-for-Play chanted, ‘
Oni
go out’ and ‘Happiness enter,’ using the ‘out’ and ‘enter’ another way. I heard them as I walked with a client back to Main House. Later I laughed.

Everyone else was throwing the roasted soybeans that would keep the demons and
oni
away from the new spring season, or picking up the soybeans for luck. The superstitious girls’ throws and shouts were the most enthusiastic.

The next morning at breakfast, Hitomi and Rin announced that Otafukure had died in her sleep. Everything stopped, and we all attended her funeral, because she had once been the
ch
ō
ja
, as well as the teacher of Chinese and the pleasing arts. We built her a funeral house by the river. Representations of a goose, a heron, a kingfisher a sparrow and a pheasant brought the different required offerings. When I asked Tashiko why we gave these gifts, she simply shrugged. I presumed the reason was custom.

Daigoro no Goro conducted the burial ceremony. His voice was not unpleasing, although more nasal than it had been before I had broken his nose. The ceremony droned on, taking at least a full morning with all the prayers and salt scattering. Sometimes during his recitation, his gaze would find me. At those times, his voice thinned and his face tightened, especially around the eyes. Akio had been right: this priest was my enemy.

We sang and danced all day and night, but I, with a dagger strapped to my leg, and Akio watched him all the time until he left the Village.

After
setsubun
, icy winds penetrated my kimonos. We had enough food, but Rin measured our firewood, like worms for too many baby birds. A light snow had fallen, and the cold forced me to breathe through my nose. When I returned from archery or sword work and checked my mirror, my cheeks showed red even through my whitened face.

That evening, I looked for Tashiko in the meal room. She was not there, which was unusual. I checked her hut. No Tashiko. I found her in her work hut, lying on the floor, like a broken dish, not moving, bleeding all over. She could not talk. Her eyes and lips were swollen shut, cuts everywhere, but she was alive, thank the Gods.

I called for help and prayed to the Goddess of Mercy. Two samurai arrived. I ordered, ‘Carry her to my hut.’

When Tashiko regained consciousness, I made sure she first heard my voice and felt my hands softly on her face. ‘Relax,’ I said. ‘I am here. Breathe. I am going to Hitomi. I shall be back soon.’

Hitomi huffed and Rin jabbed Tashiko all over while she winced and groaned. Hitomi sniffed, and said, ‘Unfit to work. Yakamashita will not see you again.’

Overnight Tashiko developed a fever. To ask for healing from the Gods, I placed a rice-straw rope around a tree where they connected with the earth. I used the tree near my hut, according to the traditions, to help her.

Rin gave me permission to attend my friend. That was good, because I would have anyway. She probably knew it. Hitomi furnished a salve to be applied several times each day so that Tashiko healed quickly without scars. Scarred, she would be worth little, and there were many gashes because of Yakamashita’s long fingernails.

Her beautiful skin, under the ointment, looked like wet laundry. The ointment’s sharp smell brought stinging tears.

‘No,’ she murmured, through her swollen lips.

‘No what?’

‘No ointment,’ she said, although I could barely understand her.

‘You need it. Without it, you will scar. You know what that means,’ I said, as gently as I could.

‘Let me scar.’

‘What are you talking about? You have a fever. You are not rational. Do you know what will happen if you are scarred?’

Wincing, she said, ‘Yes. I will no longer be a Woman-for-Play.’

‘Is that what you want? To be away from me?’ I could not believe what she said.

‘Yes. No more men. No more Daigoro no Goro.’

I knew she had fevered thoughts. Yakamashita I could understand, but Goro? ‘Hitomi said no more Yakamashita. What do you mean, Goro?’

She did not respond. A horrible idea came to me. ‘Goro? Is this the kind of thing he did to you? This is what you meant by torture?’ Perhaps the anger in my voice made her listen to me. When she had said Goro tortured her, I had thought – I did not know what I had thought.

‘No – no – no more,’ she mumbled.

‘No? No more what?’ I asked, more forcefully.

‘Yakamashita goes with Goro. They like the same . . . things.’

‘Goes with? Same things?’

Tears leaked from her eyes and ran into the slashes on her face, neck and chest. Each tear made her gasp. It hurt me to see her suffer. I grabbed a soft cloth and wiped each tear before it burned her. I asked again, ‘Tashiko, how do you know?’

‘Goro visited when Proprietor Chiba’s Gods of Directions made him go away.’

‘Yes, I remember. You told me.’ I kept my voice calm and soft, while my hands itched for a weapon. My fingers dabbed away each tear.

‘I told you . . . about the two fans?’

‘Yes, Tashiko. You did.’ That son of an
oni
, Goro, still lived, although not by my choice.

Tashiko laid a hand on mine. ‘He – he forced himself on me after every dance.’

‘I am truly sorry.’ No wonder she had been sad whenever Chiba had Divergent Directions.

‘He . . . For his pleasure, he likes to hurt.’

Wiping her tears, flowing fast now, I said, ‘I know.’

‘The hurting prepares him, his Jade Stalk . . . Otherwise . . .’

‘So you danced, he beat you and – Yakamashita is like Goro?’

‘Scarred, disfigured, they will not want me.’

‘Let me help you. Let me help you heal. I can teach you to defend yourself. After all, I broke Goro’s nose.’ I leaned close to her mangled face, smiling as best I could, ‘Imagine what we could do to Yakamashita.’