The Pillow Book of the Flower Samurai (24 page)

He cleared his throat, read a short passage, turned pages. He repeated this again, and flipped to the last page.

Goro stepped away from the altar, his shoulders drooping.

Would he return to finish the prayers? I pressed my lips together and directed my gaze at him.

He turned the prayer book to the end. He moved his head. His eyes rammed on to me and held for a moment. The corners of his lips turned up. His hand went to his cheek and a finger touched the twist I had created in his nose. His eyes narrowed.

Tashiko’s soul. His anger with me would cost Tashiko her place in Heaven. ‘Please, honourable Daigoro no Goro, complete the ceremony.’

The muscles of my arms constricted. My feet itched to run. I ordered my face to remain smooth. I stepped closer to him. Misuki grabbed my arm. I jerked away. ‘Let me be!’

Goro nodded to madam Hitomi and oriented himself towards the open grave.

He was going to stop. He would not finish the ceremony. Tashiko needed these prayers to go to Heaven. ‘Wait!’ I yelled, my arms as stiff as old bamboo, my hands ready, my feet in the attack position.

Goro lifted a hand into the air and looked down at me with disdain. He recited a short prayer.

He had lured me into an insolent and ill-mannered action. He trapped me.

‘Please do not cut short her funeral prayers.’ I bowed and made my best attempt to keep my voice low and respectful. My jaw clenched in fury at my outburst, my shame. My heart and breath rode at a gallop. Yet I could not risk my beloved’s soul, regardless of the consequences to me.

‘All that should be done has been done.’ Goro’s eyes went to madam Hitomi, who dipped her head, and then to me. With both his hands, Goro slammed the prayer book closed, stood erect and pivoted towards the grave, his lips in that odd half-smile.

He was not going to finish the funeral. My Tashiko might burn in Hell because of him. Because of me. I had to protect her spirit. How? Fierceness and despair melded in my core, like the steel of a sword. I desired to avenge my love, to shoot an arrow into the priest’s gut.

Tears trickled. My limbs shook. I screamed at the fiend, ‘Her soul will suffer. She must have the complete ceremony.’

‘Madam Hitomi knows I am the only priest who will come . . . here.’ He waved his manicured hand at the tannery where the
eta
lived.

A hellish fire soared in me. ‘How can you omit prayers for my beloved’s soul? How can you demonstrate such contempt for her? For me. I am the chief mourner!’

His eyes mocked me. ‘You are the one with no respect for the priesthood. You are the one showing disdain for your . . . loved one.’ Goro pressed his hair with one hand and folded the other across his chest, where he did not have a heart. He straightened his posture and gazed down with a sneer.

He cackled.

Blades into my heart! My whole body tensed, heated, coiled and pulsed. I rushed up the
watadono
to him. My fists punched his chest. I grabbed his robes. ‘You have no respect! You have no respect!’ I screeched. Misuki tugged at my arm. I struck him with my other hand, ‘Tashiko was murdered!’ Misuki grabbed both my arms. ‘Tashiko’s soul will haunt you! Bring you disease! Her soul will come to you in your dreams! In your nightmares! She will give you no peace! She will bring you to an early, painful death!’ I wrenched myself from Misuki’s grasp and continued battering Goro.

He tottered with my blows. Yet he bent his head to my side and whispered, ‘Tashiko begged me to take her, not you. She agreed to other games. The kind the monks taught me when I was a boy. The special kind I learned to find irresistible.’

Hitomi called, ‘Guards! Hold her!’

My hands had opened. My arms fell to my sides. I let my breath out and tilted my head to the ground. Tashiko had sacrificed herself for me.

Goro’s head lowered into my face, his tongue slowly tracing his lower lip. He murmured, ‘Next time, you.’

Brawny hands each took an arm and lifted me off the ground.

‘Never.’ I spat, through clenched teeth, and saw my sword slice his throat. ‘Goro!’ I shouted, as if each word was a sword stroke. ‘You are a devil who will never reach enlightenment – no matter how many lifetimes you spend as a monk, no matter how many
sutra
s you write and chant. What you have done is so evil you can never erase it. Not through eternity!’

He scraped my cheek with his fingernails. I squirmed to escape him. My thumbs would be daggers puncturing his eyes.

‘And now, Kozaishō, I leave soon for Heian-kyō to receive my Hat.’

I bit back tears at the injustice. ‘They could not possibly give you one.’

‘My revenge for this public disgrace will wait, but I will have retribution. Depend upon it.’

II. Proposal

A messenger from madam Hitomi requested my presence after I had seen my last customer. I trudged past the sleep huts, work huts and even Hell Hut, which I had visited many times in the almost three months since Tashiko, my love, had died. My slow pace testified to Hitomi’s good efforts, since the wounds around my chest bled easily.

What new tortures did she plan?

Wisteria blossoms hung from the vines, and I envied their short lives. Overhead, cranes and wild geese flew in mated pairs. The constant rumble of melted snow racing along the stream soothed me, like Tashiko’s voice. Alone I gazed at the rising Hazy Moon and remembered the first time I had watched that sky, dressed as a doll, drenched in a brook with my Tashiko.

In Hitomi’s big room I made the five-point, like an old woman, bent down, creeping forward at a slug’s pace so that I did not disturb my bindings or worsen the pain. Also, when the warm blood dribbled in this chill, my body shuddered. Hitomi mistook this for fear. I did not wish to contribute to her amusement.

‘You may sit, Kozaishō.’

I raised myself carefully. She used courtesies now. For two months she had screamed and criticised my performance. She had listed all the complaints from customers, if they had continued to see me.

She reclined against her winter pillows. Why had she not changed to spring ones?

‘Kozaishō, I wish to discuss your performance with clients. You are costing me revenue.’

Did she want me to sew her new spring pillows? I sighed silently to myself. If she dared put me to needlecraft, my poor skills would grant me permanent dwelling in Hell Hut. Had she just informed me her profits depended on me and my customers? No wonder she continued to harass me about my work,
her
livelihood. What power I owned, despite my desolation.

‘You and I are aware that your performance is inadequate. My duties in special hut have not changed your behaviour. Customers leave and do not return. My profits dwindle.’ She picked up a winter pillow and dangled it high in front of me. ‘Yes. I know you noticed, Kozaishō. You notice everything. Well, your poor services are the reason I do not have enough to change pillows for the new season. Do you wish to spend more time in my special hut?’

I shrugged my shoulders. I did not care, without my beautiful Buddhist.

Hitomi used her screechy voice and gestured with her hands high in the air. ‘Do you want to die?’

The inside of me was scooped out, like a melon, seeds and all, nothing left that the rind, unable to hold its shape.

She flopped against her pillows. Her nostrils flared and she grunted. She frowned and, from time to time, grumbled to herself.

Outside, sparrows called to each other in the new grass. Pheasants cooed, murmuring to each other about their clutches of eggs. The sounds of birds who had found their mates. Mine, lost for the rest of this lifetime.

‘Kozaishō!’

Hitomi interrupted my rumination. I raised my head. She was not scowling.

‘Kozaishō. But first—’ She clapped three times.

The
sh
ō
ji
opened and a servant scuttled in bringing the aroma of warm
mochi
. She bowed and set down a tray. More claps, and the servant left. No words spoken. This had been rehearsed.

‘Let us eat these rice cakes while they are still warm.’ She reached out and took one, at the same time maintaining her gaze on me.

‘Whatever Madam Hitomi wishes.’ I took one and waited for her to bite first.

She ate in silence. I did not eat
mochi
: the sweetness would turn bitter in my mouth.

‘Eat it. You have lost too much weight.’

I nibbled at what I thought would taste like old straw. Warm. Delicious. My mouth watered. The old monkey! My appetite revived.

‘Now, Kozaishō, you will meet your tutor on the Days of the Snake and the Pig. Correct?’ Her voice melted into the air, as sweet as the
mochi
that dissolved in my mouth.

‘Madam Hitomi, the Days of the Hare, Goat and Pig.’

‘Because I know you enjoy your studies, he will come on the Day of the Rooster also.’

I responded with a small bow. I needed to be wary. She had bribed me. For what?

Hitomi squinted at me. ‘Misuki will take lessons with you. Eat. Eat. You must fatten up if you are to concentrate on your studies.’

She pointed at my mostly eaten rice cake. I took another few bites and finished it. Disgusted with myself for the enjoyment. The
mochi
– a component of the bribe.

‘I will also arrange for another tutor. For the
biwa
. On the Days of the Ox and the Goat.’ She drifted deep into her pillows, her hands cross-fingered in her lap. ‘For both you and Misuki. That will make it easier for Misuki to catch up with you.’ She tapped her fingers together.

Misuki had learned fast. She had astounded me. Hitomi had surprised, no, unsettled me. Let her do what she wished with me. The tutors, more days. A
biwa
tutor. Now Misuki. Again, Hitomi wanted something from me. Was Misuki a spy for Hitomi? I smelt her fear. Perhaps she had spoken the truth. Perhaps she really did rely on me for her profits.

‘Would you like another
mochi
? Here, Kozaishō . . .’ She pushed the tray towards me. I took another, my appetite shamefully enticed into allience.

‘Kozaishō, you and I know I hear grievances from your clients. My special hut has not motivated you to perform better. Therefore I have a proposal.’

My head snapped up. Here it came. Her voice smoothed over her anxiety, and her fingers danced. What else would she offer and for what? I had to find and kill Tashiko’s murderer.

‘Kozaishō, listen to me. You and I understand you have not managed your responsibilities. Here is my proposal.’ She pressed her elbows on to her knees, her fists under her multiple chins. ‘Each day I receive complaints you will be locked into the room here in Main House and not permitted to be with Akio.’

Akio! Akio – still here? To be with my great friend. To return to training. My bow? To strap on my quiver. To grasp my
bokken
. My back straightened, and the expected throbbing warmth seeped through my bindings. I steeled myself against the tremors, soon to come.

‘You will go to Akio every day I receive no complaints from your clients.’

My face turned to the source of much pain these past two months. My eyes narrowed, as I envisaged a life again with someone who loved me.

She was manipulating me for her own comfort and profit, I knew that, yet tears of possibility leaked down my cheeks to my chin. What Hitomi’s hatred and punishment had not achieved, this specious kindness had accomplished. I had not made a sound through any of her torments, but I allowed myself, that day, to utter a single sound of hope.

III. Framework for Vengeance

I hesitated outside the communal eating room, listened to the chatter, and relished the fragrance of rice and vegetables for the first time in months. Hitomi’s sweet
mochi
remained on my teeth, reminding me of hunger.

I entered, and conversations melted like ice at the edge of a river on a hot day. Glances skittered across the room, away from me. Except Misuki’s. She sat in a corner, far from the few women trekking to and from the rice and the pickled or fresh vegetable pots in the room’s centre. I wanted to be alone, but she beamed when her eyes locked on mine, and she motioned me to join her, Emi and Aya.

I fixed a smile to my face. I had no wish to hurt Emi and Aya. Perhaps Misuki thought that now Tashiko was dead . . . but no. Never. No matter how many incense sticks she bought for me, I could not love her. I filled my evening-meal bowl and joined them in the corner.