The Pillow Book of the Flower Samurai (37 page)

Next to a
go
board there were two lidded containers for the pieces. Each lid displayed the Taira butterfly in a circle. The board and its feet shone, while its gourd-like legs were thick and round, with carved swirls.

My quarters extended to three more rooms, each sumptuous, but not quite as elegant as the first. A bathing room directly adjoined the largest room. On the outside of the building was a veranda, a
watadono
with long eaves. Further a
hisoshi
– a type of curtain – separated each room along this watadono. Privacy had, at least, its appearance. The eaves’ shadows cooled our quarters during the midday heat. Beyond the veranda lay a serene garden and a pond, an invitation to a private paradise.

Why was I here, like a respected woman of rank? I dared not think this was true, for fear it would burst like a bubble in boiling soup. The men I had known had often defaulted on their promises, no matter how sincerely they had been made.

At our first meeting Michimori had shown a sense of humour. After our time together, he had carefully plucked every piece of straw from my hair, then chuckled. ‘I had to pay handsomely to play with you in a make-believe barn . . . with real straw.’

I had thought it funny at the time and giggled. However, nothing gave me an indication he was capable of playing such a cruel hoax. To place me, a Woman-for-Play, with the women of his household, was out of character with the Michimori I had met.

I thought of another fleeting dream I had had – but this was not a dream! – that someone like Michimori, with power and money, favoured me, cared for me, perhaps as a concubine. It had brought a small inward smile, and sadness at its absurdity.

Three women came into the room and interrupted my reverie. The eldest was the tallest, handsomely plump, and her short hair glistened. She must be the Woman-in-Charge-of-Rooms, as Obāsan had mentioned. The two behind her were shorter, their
kosodes
plain, short-sleeved and ordinary, like their faces. One was also slightly plump, but the other was extremely thin, with a bad complexion. Their names were Number One Serving Girl and Number Two Serving Girl. Number One’s eyes smiled, and Number Two merely bowed, her face indecipherable.

I made a little bow to the Woman-in-Charge-of-Rooms, who bowed deeply and asked permission to speak. ‘We are here to serve you. These two are to stay in your rooms. What do you wish? Honourable lady, please tell us what you would like to eat, and we will arrange it for you.’

I looked at Misuki and Emi. We had never been offered a choice of food. The memory of childhood hunger passed over, like a storm’s first stirring in a stifling Hour of the Monkey. I took a deep breath to hold on to the difference between then and now: eating boiled leaves that my sisters had picked in the fields, and now to choose whatever I liked.

Misuki and I conferred on our decision: fried eel, roasted sea bream, vegetables and noodles. One of my wealthier customers had spoken of sea bream as his favourite fish. While I trusted his judgement on other matters, this was my first opportunity to test his culinary recommendation.

‘But,’ I added, attempting to sound indifferent, ‘add whatever looks pleasing.’ Staring straight ahead, I dared not make eye contact with Misuki for fear of the monstrous tittering that might overtake us.

‘And melon,’ Emi whispered, in a bold tone. ‘Could we please have some melon? And you could tell us the story of “No Melon to Spare”.’

‘It is bad luck to eat fried eel and melon at the same meal,’ Misuki said.

‘No eel, then,’ I said, in my ordering voice.

The serving girls brought bath water, but I waited until they had left before I undressed: I did not want them to see my injuries. It was a relief to be alone and let Misuki wash carefully around the bruises and cuts. Then I soaked, and although Misuki did not mention it, I know I fell asleep. I awoke refreshed, but my fingers had wrinkled and the water had cooled.

Number One Serving Girl brought new clothes, but Misuki dried and dressed me, heedful of my wounds. The under kimono was of cream silk. It felt cool and smooth next to my body. The outermost kimono was spectacular – a blue heavy-stitched stiffened silk with designs of trees and birds. The red lining matched the birds. New clothes delighted me, but even those light summer kimonos scraped my raw skin.

Misuki called for the serving girls to return as she applied my makeup. They dressed my hair, which took considerable time because of its thickness and length – it fell to the floor. The ornament that Number One placed in my hair matched my lip rouge. My sandals were the same brocade as my outermost kimono. Number Two brought a mirror. I did look beautiful.

Dressed and ready, I retold the story of ‘No Melon to Spare’. The serving girls listened.

A greedy farmer, taking his early melons to sell, stopped along the hot road. There he ate a small part of his expensive harvest. An old traveller asked, ‘Honourable driver, would you spare a grandfather one slice of melon?’ But the driver gruffly refused.

The old man said, ‘Well, I will grow my own.’ He gathered fallen seeds, planted them, and spat on each seed with an accuracy that no mere human could have achieved. The driver and several travellers watched as the plants grew and transformed into full-sized melons.

The grandfather took a knife and began to eat. Nearby travellers asked if they could have a slice. With the face of the Goddess of Mercy, he told them to share all they wished. Each traveller took plenty. The driver was unable to sell his crop, because so many had had the grandfather’s delicious melons. An itinerant priest commented, ‘One who begrudges a single slice will lose all.’

After bathing, we waited for our dinner and our fate. The former was delicious, the latter delicious and dangerous.

IV. Service

Before the meal, I sent Misuki with the serving girls to supervise the unpacking of our clothing and costumes, makeup and toiletries. Later we sent them on prolonged errands and searched out my concealed logs and other papers. The thin walls and well-kept furniture provided few places to hide them so we created the required spaces by using old combs to squash them into cracks and between or behind
sh
ō
ji
frames.

Misuki agreed to keep the larger papers in her socks and other clothing because I might be called upon to remove mine. The future was unknown and I wanted to keep my precious intelligence safe.

Our first real dinner in Rokuhara arrived in a procession with four servants, each dressed in rich fabrics made into plain kimono,
kosode
or trousers with jackets. The Woman-in-Charge-of-Rooms led them.

All of this far exceeded my dream on the day I was sold to Chiba. I sat in a polished wooden room while servants brought food in lacquered bowls on trays inlaid with gold and silver. The chopsticks were not merely glossy black but decorated with such detail I hesitated to touch them.

The lacquered bowls aroused memories of my first meals with Chiba. When I saw the trays I recalled those meals, and the many I had shared with Tashiko. Tears trickled from my eyes as rain overflows a pond.

After the servants had left, we discovered that the food was delectable. Misuki, Emi and I ate, chattered and compared the food, the chopsticks and each bowl. The sea bream, as the former client had boasted, was indeed an excellent and fragrant fish. The food was arranged artfully and we cooed like swallows before feasting on each dish. Sometimes Emi laughed and clapped at vegetables cut like flowers, or colours that rivalled my new robes. The enchanting meal caused me to put aside my fears momentarily.

Obāsan came into our quarters. ‘In court,’ she explained, ‘everyone is required to leave their bowl empty.’ She amused us with stories of high-ranking nobles wrapping fish bones and sneaking them into their sleeves. I understood this gentle lesson, but we laughed at the thought of not being able to empty our bowls.

The next day Tokikazu sent for me early, at the Hour of the Dragon. Misuki dressed me carefully to avoid hurting me, but the weight of my armour was immense. The messenger took me through the corridors’ labyrinth and then to a northern field.

I practised stationary archery first. That morning Tokikazu and I were first on the Arrow Way. I looked for Akio, but did not see him, nervous to be with Tokikazu alone. Why was I tense to be alone with him? At the end of the long, narrow field were targets of bamboo hats tied to stakes. To make it more difficult, the early-morning breeze buffeted the hats.

‘No, little peony,’ Tokikazu admonished me, soon after I had begun. ‘You have forgotten to look away from the target. Your form is not your best.’

I sighed. I agreed with his criticism and wished I could share the cause of my distractions.

‘We shall do this together,’ he whispered, as he wrapped his arms around me from behind and placed his hands on my wrists. ‘Like this and this.’ He touched my shoulders, not realising this caused stabs of pain. Breathing softly but audibly, he touched my back, whispering about breath. He moved my head with his hand to remind me of the draw, meet and release.

My eyes could hardly focus, but the Goddess of Mercy allowed me to remain silent, afraid my voice would give away my distress – my physical pain and that I experienced at his closeness. Was I attracted to two different men?

‘Kozaishō, you are a good student. You have made much progress in a short time.’ His hands remained wrapped around me. His entire body quaked, although his voice was steady.

He was leaning against my back, his fingers touching my hands, wrists and neck. I endured his body’s restrained tremors. His movements and words commanded propriety. His honourable allegiance to Michimori shone like the sun through autumn maple leaves.

‘Thank you for your kind words, but you exaggerate my skill.’ I controlled my tone as carefully as I used to with a new client, hiding my physical suffering and unease at his arousal. He acknowledged my words with a wave. Perhaps he was unable to speak.

Samurai teacher

Holder of my lord’s honour

You show me honour

From your patient discipline to

Your denial of desire

V. Practising and Politics

Almost a month later, Michimori returned, but he did not send for me immediately. By then I had healed, and could now enjoy my favourite archery game, with the triangle targets set at intervals. The horses’ hoofs’ drumming rhythm rocked me as if I were in a lover’s arms and I shot at one target after another.

My horse’s gait was smooth, so I shot fast and with accuracy. My speed and precision had improved after much work with Tokikazu, Sadakokai and Akio. Those early weeks were difficult, but I loved practising and becoming competent, working on a path towards an honourable life, although a peach stone nipped my stomach when I thought of Michimori.

Part of each day included sword on horse and throwing daggers or
shurikens
. After the Initial Movements sword techniques Tokikazu had taught me, I completed formal exercises and practised with
bokken
in earnest. Parry and double cut with body leverage. Back counterattack with double turn. Evasive turn and double cut. Double cut with evasive turn on knee. Tokikazu’s eyes smiled, even when he was locked in combat with me. Mine did too. His beauty captivated me.

After practice at Chiba’s I had had to bathe, since he preferred me to do so. At Hitomi’s I was allowed to practise only before any customers arrived. At Rokuhara, after a long session, servants brought perfumed cloths to remove the sweat. More servants approached to re-dress my hair and replace torn or soiled clothing. Then more servants brought fragrant foods in lacquered dishes and drinks in porcelain cups.

Besides practice, there was much else at Rokuhara and Heian-kyō. With guards, Tokikazu, Mokuhasa, and sometimes Akio, took me to
sum
ō
wrestling. The escort defended me from beggars, but particularly from the pervasive groups of young priests who might perform mischief or worse. All of us sought the priest with the broken nose. I watched the Great Champion throw his opponent out of the Holy Circle while wearing his Sumptuous Loincloth.