The Pillow Book of the Flower Samurai (5 page)

II. Rules

I put my head into my hands, muffling my screeching-crying sounds. Fourth Daughter hated me crying like that. What if I displeased Proprietor Chiba? My family would be disgraced. I did not know how, but I had already upset Tashiko. If not, why would she be unkind?

On my knees in Lesser House, I wiped my face with the backs of my hands. I did not wish to spoil my new clothes. I heard my father’s voice; ‘Keep our honour. Do your duty by going with Proprietor Chiba.’

I rubbed my neck where Mother had placed a kiss that morning and saw the face of Second Daughter as she sang me to sleep. Who would sing to me tonight?

I heard someone slide the door and come inside. I put my face to the ground – no, the floor. I caught the smells of fish, rice, spices and sharp body odour. Would I be allowed to eat that food? No one spoke. Who was it? Honour included doing as you were told. Therefore I waited, burying my nose in my new clothes to avoid the floor’s uncomfortable scent. My head filled with my family’s faces when my fingers brushed the cloth on which they had worked. I breathed in sorrow.

‘Kozaishō.’

My name . . . I heard my name.

‘Kozaishō, your parents have taught you your manners well. Stand in front of me.’ Proprietor Chiba sat high on the doubled
futon
, smiling so widely that his cheeks made his eyes almost disappear. ‘Today is the beginning of your new life. You will have many tasks, and you may also have pleasures. Do you understand?’

I nodded, facing down.

‘When I ask a question, answer with your voice. Say “yes” or “no” or whatever the answer is, always ending with “Honourable Proprietor Chiba”.’

‘Yes, honourable Proprietor Chiba.’

‘In this place it is correct for you to look me in the face. At all other times and all other places, I do not permit it. But here, Kozaishō,’ a chubby hand floated up and out towards each wall, ‘when you and I are together, just the two of us, you will look upon my face. It is my wish—’

‘Yes, honourable Proprietor Chiba.’

‘I had not finished speaking, Kozaishō. You must always wait for me.’ He hit my head with his hand.

I fell to the side. Half of my face smacked against the wooden floor. I was stunned, then furious. Yet I heard my father’s voice, ‘Do your duty,’ and did nothing. No jumping on him as I would my brothers.

My stomach growled in spite of the pain and surprise. Would I eat tonight or would there be more punishment? I did not know. I breathed, but stayed still.

‘Always wait for me to finish speaking.’

I pushed myself on to my knees and waited. He said no more. From my throbbing head, my throat scratched out, ‘Yes, honourable Proprietor Chiba.’

‘It is my wish when we are in this place for you to look upon my face. It is my wish . . . and it is my command.’

I waited a bit. ‘Yes, honourable Proprietor Chiba.’

‘Tomorrow Tashiko will teach you your tasks – and see what I have brought you.’ He smiled and pointed to the table on which lay a tray with many small covered dishes.

The food – those delicious aromas, so close, so far. All the bowls shining, most with covers, mostly black. Some had little flowers on them.

‘Are you hungry?’

Despite my aching head and shoulders, my belly gurgled and I replied. All that food could feed my entire family.

‘Shall I feed you, or can you feed yourself?’

‘I can feed myself,’ I said. How old did he think I was? ‘Whatever the honourable proprietor wishes, honourable Proprietor Chiba,’ I added, to be sure I included the right words. I did not wish to be struck again.

‘Eat, and I will tell you about each dish as you do so.’

I did my best to appreciate what he said. We had had no rice for years. I ate the whole bowl. I glanced at him every now and then. Would he hit me?

When I stopped eating, he said, ‘Would you like a story before you sleep?’

‘Oh, yes, honourable Proprietor Chiba.’

A story before sleep. Something familiar in this strange place.

He called Tashiko into Lesser House. She sat down closer to Proprietor Chiba than I and finished my leftover food.

She was older, yet I had eaten first. I did not understand. No wonder she had been unkind.

Proprietor Chiba told this story:

‘Long ago Chōkichi, a charcoal-burner who lived near Sawaage, dreamed that if he travelled to Misokai Bridge at Takayama something marvellous would happen. He went immediately. Sitting on the bridge, a tōfu-maker came and asked what he was doing. The tōfu-maker laughed at Chōkichi’s dream, saying, “Anyone who takes dreams seriously is a fool.” The tōfu-maker continued, “I keep dreaming that gold is buried beneath a cryptomeria tree by the house of a charcoal-burner at Sawaage. It is only a dream. I need take no notice.” When Chōkichi heard that, he went home and dug around the tree. He became quite wealthy.

‘Girls, I am like that charcoal-burner.’ He took a pudgy finger and poked himself in the chest several times. ‘I have a dream. My dream is to entertain Taira courtiers here by the next festival. Two months away.’

He turned to Tashiko, leaned close to her face and smiled. ‘Tomorrow show Kozaishō the
sh
ō
en
, especially the temple, but make sure you teach her the Butterfly Dance.’

He stroked Tashiko’s face. She almost purred, like a cat. ‘Fortunately for you, the Gods of Direction are unkind. I must to stay at the house of my brother-in-law overnight. An extra day for you to practise. Use it well. You will both perform all of the dances for my guests, in full costume.’

Tashiko waited two short breaths and acknowledged him.

I learned to take those two breaths before I spoke to him. He not only hit me but Tashiko too.

Tashiko moved closer to him. He smiled at her and rubbed her head. She glared at me, and her lips curved in a faint smile. Tashiko was to teach me what I needed to know, and we were already rivals.

III. Risk

No mother’s song awakened me next morning, no sisters’ punches. There was no crackle of a fire and no smell of barley cooking. Jaundiced light flowed through the window silk on to the
futon
. When I noticed the pale green kimono with those trees, I remembered where I was, with sadness and determination. No Tashiko either.

When Tashiko arrived, she carried shiny bowls, and we ate our morning meal, rice, just as delicious as the previous night. On my bowl I saw the same white flowers, too. Tashiko’s had autumn grasses.

‘What makes the bowls shine?’

‘Lacquer.’

‘Lacquer?’ I had never heard of it.

‘Potters put lacquer on the bowls.’ She smirked.

I thought of the plain, chipped bowls my family used. ‘Do we always eat from such beautiful bowls?’

‘Yes.’

She gave me a jacket for the morning chill. Green, not blue like hers, with little embroidered rabbits huddled near trees. She turned the cuffs up three times. It was almost like wearing my older sisters’ clothes. Tashiko did not make a game of dressing me. Second Daughter and I practised dance steps to help me dress. Not Tashiko.

‘Come.’

‘Yes, Tashiko.’ I bowed. Perhaps if I showed her more respect, she would not be so angry with me. She would realise that I was not an enemy.

‘No bowing.’ Tashiko frowned and chewed her bottom lip. ‘Walk.’

If I followed her and learned the Butterfly Dance, perhaps I could go home soon, or at least after the festival. Last night Proprietor Chiba had complimented my manners. I would do whatever I needed to do to bring honour to my family, as Father wished. Then I could go home. In my deepest, most secret place, I feared that might never happen.

I pushed the thought away.

As we walked, Tashiko spoke. ‘Proprietor Chiba made places here where the high-born, the courtiers, like to enjoy themselves. Call them fancies. They wear fancy clothes.’

‘What do they do?’ She was talking to me. She did not seem angry today.

‘Walk. Some ride. Sit and write. Watch the dances.’

‘Where?’

‘See?’ She pointed to a nearby pond. ‘Those islands in that small lake. When they come, we are not allowed to go outside Lesser House, except to dance.’ She grabbed me. ‘Today there is no one. No one.’ She lifted her arms high and almost yelled, ‘I can be free!’ Her eyes filled, like dew on sunlit leaves. I glanced at her wide-eyed face and smiled to her. One day distant and disagreeable, today glad.

‘Let’s look. So many birds here this spring.’

I wanted to know how long she had been here – had she been sold, like me? I kept quiet now, not wanting to anger her.

We rambled to the lake. Skylarks, cranes, copper pheasants and ibis gathered. I loved the ibises’ red beaks and black-tipped wings. Their white feathers shimmered against the water making clouds float across it.
Koi
and other fish swarmed among the pink and yellow water-lilies. They all had families.

A pair of cranes performed their courting dance. I did not stir until the male jumped high, spreading his black-tipped white wings wide to finish his courtship. Perhaps, after our work, I could play here, listen to the frogs and watch the butterflies and birds. If Tashiko forgave me or remained pleasant.

I thought I had seen the whole
sh
ō
en
, but Tashiko placed her hands on my shoulders. ‘There is a Buddhist temple. Come.’ I saw happiness in her eyes for a second time.

It was taller than any shrine to which my family had ever taken me. A high fountain thundered before its door, a typhoon of water. The wooden railings formed a delicate pattern. Only Fourth Daughter had the skill to copy it with her sewing.

As I moved closer, the fountain painted rainbows in the midday air. When Tashiko stopped in front of them, she put her hands over her stomach. Her eyes glowed and went far away at the same time. She muttered words I did not understand. I waited, silent.

I looked inside the temple. Many lighted candles stood on tables. I heard timeworn voices muttering my name and saw ancient eyes staring.

‘Now to the samurai’s game field.’ Tashiko raced off.

Perhaps my large samurai would be there. I ran fast to follow her.

Far beyond the bathhouse lay a green field with no crop, only grass. Men played with a leather ball, running and kicking to keep it in the air. I searched, yet could not see my samurai. Tashiko followed the ball back and forth, her mouth and eyes stretching wider and wider.

This was something that made her happy. I liked the game too.

We returned to Lesser House in the late midday.

‘Do you know the Butterfly Dance?’

‘Yes, Tashiko.’

Tashiko sighed, seeming content. ‘Good.’

Tashiko and I rehearsed the Butterfly Dance as I had with my older sister. Tashiko shimmered like a real butterfly in the twilight. A spring haze, with its fresh smell, cooled us. The cicadas trilled, and the bush warblers called their endearing good night, ‘
ho-hoh hokekky
ō
’. The birds’ song reminded me of saying goodbye to my father. I resolved not to cry, but instead to think of my duty and embrace it.

Dancing and singing, I pretended I was at home with Second Daughter. Outside, behind the lines of drying clothes, she and I had practised a difficult new dance for last autumn’s Feast of Harvest. First she had shown me the whole dance. Next we had learned the steps separately, then the hand and finally the head movements. Last, I had put them all together.

We had sung and swirled. I had spun into the drying garments hanging under the cloudy sky. Mother ran out to see the muddy wreckage. Her lips turned down to her chin.

I thought, Besides a beating, no evening meal, but Mother’s face softened and she said, ‘Both of you stop and wash those clothes again.’

At the mild punishment Second Daughter raised her eyebrows – her look of surprise. She grabbed my hand. ‘Come. Two of us can do this and have time to practise those steps again.’ We learned that dance, Second Daughter and I, Fifth Daughter.

Now – Tashiko and I.

IV. Ambush

Tashiko and I practised the Butterfly Dance for the remainder of that second day and all of the third on Lesser House’s
watadono
. The
biwa
player’s music drifted around us, as welcome as the sparrows’ chirps. Dancing was harder work than turning the grinding stone at harvest. It had the same movements over and over, in varied patterns: point the toes, uncurl the fingers, head tilted left and head tilted right; two beats, four beats, curl, uncurl and bend the fingers, over and over. Remembered or repeated. Later we did everything together again. Perfect for Proprietor Chiba. Flawless for my family and our honour.