The Pillow Book of the Flower Samurai (4 page)

‘I know. You shall have what you want, your tedious rank and a hat,’ Proprietor Chiba growled, like a trapped animal.

‘And do not damage the girls – do not injure them in any way.’ The priest’s body changed from egret to hawk, and he dropped his face closer to Proprietor Chiba’s.

‘Have I ever?’ Chiba raised his shoulders and stepped away. ‘But I must discipline them.’

Discipline? Damage? Hard words. Frightening words.

‘You know what I mean. Otherwise—’ The priest leaned towards the proprietor again.

‘Goro, there is no need for threats. No need at all.’

‘An invitation this year and every year, until we both move up. I believe we are truly destined to help this clan in a higher capacity. Do you not agree?’

‘Naturally you shall be invited to the Third Day Third Month Doll Festival.’

‘I believe now we will be going in the same direction . . .’

Proprietor Chiba walked away.

‘. . . soon,’ the priest finished, to Proprietor Chiba’s back. The priest turned to me. ‘You will see, Fifth Daughter. I was sold to a monastery when I was younger than you. What do you see now?’ He opened his arms wide and pivoted from side to side.

He sounded pleased with himself. I had no idea what he meant. I merely bowed.

‘Fine clothes, a horse, a house and enough to eat.’ He fondled a lengthy piece of leather that hung at his waist. ‘Authority and power. More importantly, soon, Fifth Daughter, soon I will wear a hat of colour, as well as these priest’s robes.’ He peered down at me. ‘Then no one will dominate or control me.’ He straightened in the saddle. ‘I will visit you again, beautiful girl.’ He mounted his black beast and rode away.

Proprietor Chiba glided towards me, tapped my head with his fleshy fingers and motioned me to follow. Standing straight, hands at my sides, I marched behind him. We crossed a wooden bridge to a large building I had seen from outside.

Thinking about what the priest said and resolving to follow Proprietor Chiba, I studied the wobbling expanse of his robes and fell. My head hit the small stones covering the hard earthen path. Hundreds of stone needles struck my face. I heard my mother shout, ‘You have spoiled your festival smock.’ In my shame and pain I lay still. I wanted to hide.

Strong hands, my samurai’s, hoisted me. He rescued me. He came for me. ‘Are you hurt?’ He held me upright with both hands and looked me in the face.

My legs flexed like wet straw. ‘I do not think so.’

‘Can you stand by yourself?’

I said yes, but my legs dipped when he let go. He caught me. His eyebrows puckered like Second Daughter’s did when I fell out of a tree or cut myself.

With several long breaths, my legs steadied. My eyes refocused.

Ahead, Proprietor Chiba motioned again to me with his chubby fingers. Standing straight, hands at my side, I caught up with him and marched behind him, as was correct.

Proprietor Chiba stopped, hands on hips. ‘Let the servants of Big House assemble.’ His voice resonated – needing to be obeyed.

‘Bring Tashiko,’ he barked. ‘Ready Lesser House. We will need a kimono. This size.’ He swivelled and pointed a fat finger at me. ‘For my new acquisition, Fifth Daughter, whom I bought on my prescribed walk.’

I was an acquisition? If this had not reflected on my family’s honour, the next time he pointed at me I would have bitten his fingers. I hated being pointed or laughed at.

Proprietor Chiba pushed me along the row of collected people. A beautiful array of cloth and colours flickered on each: deep leaf green with gold thread, sea blue with red flowers, earth black with dazzling sunset pink. I tried to concentrate.

I smelt sweat and food or soap when I passed each person. I also saw their hands and feet. The hands were reddened and rough, calloused like Father’s and my brothers’. Would I ever see my father and brothers again? Others were coarse, chapped like Mother’s and my sisters’. I would probably never see my family again. These feet – huge, small, or gnarled. One pair even turned inwards. Each person wore shoes of heavy cloth, not like my straw ones.

My toes already poked through my sandals, and my face grew warm trying to hide them. Father would not make me a new pair until the straw came in. No, he would not. He was not here.

I wanted to cry. My tears would not fall. I had eaten a little barley before dawn, nothing since. My throat and belly clawed at me. Night was approaching and darkness was breaking over me.

Yet on this day I had discovered that not only was I worth the price of land, I was handsome and beautiful.

BOOK 2

I. A Rival

A girl scuttled up and stood next to me, taller than I, perhaps one or two years older. A pale blue kimono encased her. With long fingers she grasped my arm above the elbow. Thick lashes made her black eyes large in her round face. She chewed her bottom lip. She bowed to Proprietor Chiba and murmured to me, ‘Tashiko.’

‘Tashiko will attend to Kozaishō,’ Proprietor Chiba ordered to the people. ‘If any observe Kozaishō in need, assist her. Do not speak to either girl directly, unless you have my consent.’

Tashiko pushed on my shoulder to guide me. Her sweet smell reminded me of bush clover and pinewood, not at all like the spicy sweat of my sisters.

When we were away from the others, I bowed. ‘Permission to ask a question, Honourable Tashiko?’ She seemed only a little older. Still, I wanted to make a good first impression.

‘Just Tashiko. No permission needed.’

‘Tashiko, what is a “prescribed walk”?’

‘The ride Proprietor Chiba takes when he has been told to walk.’

This made no sense to me. Therefore I asked no more questions.

Tashiko steered me to a miniature house a short distance from the
sh
ō
. ‘Lesser House,’ she whispered.

We climbed what Tashiko called ‘steps’ to a roofed floor around the house, which Tashiko called the
watadono
. ‘For rain or shade,’ she said. Yellow cloth covered Lesser House’s window. I touched it when Tashiko’s back was turned. My fingers remembered what Mother had taught me: it was a heavy silk. This type of cloth allowed the light in and also gave privacy. Mother’s lessons. What if I failed here?

Inside, coloured woods, pieced together, covered the ground and shone like a full moon with no clouds. Heaviness pressed on my chest from breathing in its odd odour. Such a floor would be easier to keep dirt away. What other new things waited for me?

A thick
futon
lay bundled in one corner. Dolls sat on it, several dolls, all dressed in colourful fabrics, not straw. Their real eyes stared at me from smooth white faces, with real red mouths and real black hair and no expression. They were so beautiful, yet they did not seem happy.

I looked at Tashiko and around the rest of the house. A large brazier and screen crowded along one wall for the two of us. Winter nights might be warmer here. In another corner a round object of carved wood spread its legs like upside-down flower petals, as if it were bowing. A bowl of water perched on top of it.

‘What is that?’ I pointed.

‘Table. For dishes.’

Tashiko taught me other words for things. Some I accepted meekly, some I came to love, and some I learned to hate.

Tashiko seized my hand and pulled me. ‘Come. I must bathe you.’

We went beyond Lesser House and into the bathhouse, where she combed and fingered my hair. ‘Your great beauty, so thick and heavy. Does it take long to dry?’

‘At home . . .’ pressing my lips together so I did not to cry at this word ‘. . . it takes m-most of a w-warm day to dry it.’

‘Here, let me take these old things off,’ she said, and removed my smock and trousers.

‘They are not old! I want them! They are mine!’ I snatched them and held them to my chest. Today I had lost my family; I would not lose my festival clothes.

‘I shall keep them.’

‘Promise?’

She tossed my trousers and smock into a corner. She pointed to a small wooden stool. ‘Sit.’ I ran and grabbed them back. ‘Not till you promise.’

‘I promise.’

I stared at her and then handed my clothes to her with great ceremony.

She rolled her eyes. ‘Now sit. I will scrub you.’

‘I did not play in the mud today.’ I hoped this would save me from whatever she would do. Then I remembered my fall at the gate. ‘Oh . . . I did.’ I gave myself to my fate, but not my best costume. ‘I still want to keep my clothes.’

She nodded. ‘Proprietor Chiba wants you washed.’ With a brush and a bowl of prepared water she began. Long strokes from my head to my bottom, up and down my legs to my feet, over and over again. She worked until my skin reddened. I glared at her. She did not stop.

Was she annoyed because I wanted to keep my smock and trousers? I had not done anything to her yet. What if I yanked her hair? But she was a stranger. I did nothing, except keep my eyes on my clothes, even though Tashiko had promised.

After the pouring of clear water, Tashiko pointed to a large deep round bowl raised above the floor. ‘Now soak.’

She took my festival clothes from the corner, folded them and put them on another stool. Smoothing them, she murmured, ‘Look at this.’

‘Fourth Daughter embroidered those flowers.’

‘An unusual colour.’

‘Mother dyed it red for First Daughter. They will be too small for you,’ I added, afraid she might take them.

She nodded. ‘Put as much of yourself as you can under the water.’

The warm water made me feel as if I was flying, in a cloud, in a dream. I closed my eyes and my ears filled with the sounds of horses galloping far away, then trampling near the bathhouse and, next, children’s giggles and laughter, a baby’s wail.

My chest squeezed. The children’s giggles reminded me of my sisters’ laughter. I missed my mother’s quiet scoldings. ‘Who are the other children?’

‘We are not allowed to play with any children here.’ Tashiko’s eyes went blank. She studied her toes.

Tears dripped down my cheeks and plopped into the bath.

Tashiko did not rub my head like Second Daughter did when I cried. My skin still hurt.

‘Will you stop crying if I tell you a story?’

I nodded, thankful she had noticed.

Tashiko spoke magic words: ‘Long ago, the great God Izanagi first cleaned his body by soaking it. He had gone to the underworld . . .’

‘The nether world?’ I asked, sniffling.

‘Yes. Afterwards, Izanagi cleansed his body in the sea.’ Tashiko stood up and rubbed her back. ‘To what
inago
do I owe my suffering?’ she muttered to herself. Her eyes shone with tears.

‘What is
inago
?’ I asked, encouraged by the story.

‘The cause and the effect,
karma
. We pay with our suffering for bad things we did before.’

‘Before what?’

‘In other lives.’

‘Other lives?’

‘The Buddha speaks,’ Tashiko said. ‘Each has many lives. Goes to wondrous places. Has no one taught you this?’

I nodded. I did not remember any of it, although I had heard of the Buddha. What would happen? What wondrous places would I see?

The bathhouse door swung open behind me. Cool air floated over my warm skin. A shuffling, and the door swung shut. Tashiko motioned for me to come out of the bath. She scraped me with a thick cloth, hurting me again. She used a corner to wipe her own eyes.

I asked nothing.

She went to the door and returned with two pieces of clothing. One she called
kosode
, or under-kimono. The other was a kimono of pale moss green with embroidered trees and a bridge on the side. Tashiko dressed me.

The
kosode
and kimono hung off me as if they belonged to Mother. I recognised the kimono’s design. The needlework belonged to my mother and sisters. Grief smothered me like a heavy quilt. I shivered as if I was cold, yet my skin felt hot. I wanted to go home.

Remembering my dignity, I wiped my tears, tracing the designs on the kimono where my dry fingers could reach, where my family had touched.

This cloth.

The willow trees.

The bridge.

All I had left of my family.