The Pillow Book of the Flower Samurai (50 page)

‘Why were you and Sadakokai spying on me in my garden?’

‘Oh. You are angry again. Why? Michimori loves you. He married you, gave you rank, made you one of the “fancies”, as someone we loved used to say.’

Tashiko’s words returned me to myself as Fifth-Daughter once more. I resolved to force myself to ignore my body’s reactions when I was near Tokikazu. I
did
have sympathy for Michimori, my husband, my protector, my family, and I was, as he said to me, his life. ‘You are correct, my dear friend.’ I hugged her. ‘Let us not quarrel. I ask only for your assistance in maintaining a distance between me and . . .’ I could not say his name.

‘Kozaishō, I will even train more with you, if that is what is required.’

We embraced again as I wondered if our voices had carried into ears that would repay us with evil.

That day Tokikazu waited to escort me in his blue brocade
noshi
, a braided sash around his slender waist, and matching
hakama
. His swords’ scabbards enthralled my eyes, but their handles, heavy purple silk braided over dyed-red stingray skin with multiple gold dragon ornaments, made me gasp. In his formal dress shoes with the gold edging, my pulse increased. We greeted each other with our eyes. I forced mine blank, I thought of Fourth Son, my brother, the youngest one, closest to my age. He had always defended me when my older brothers teased me about my dreams. He had been my favourite. I imagined him toiling happily in my birth family’s new field, the one purchased with my life. Dare I ask Michimori if I might visit them?

I reconsidered.

My birth family would not know me, with my teeth blackened, face white with rice flour and eyebrows plucked, wearing ten robes or my armour. I was now
kuge
, and they were peasants, scarcely above the
eta
in the Village of Outcasts. Would I recognise them? I could no longer recall their faces, just brief flashes, like lightning against a spring storm’s darkened sky, that pierced my chest like a spear.

Akio always lingered close to me, but remained silent. However, Tokikazu and I whispered on the way to Grand Room, but never about finding Goro and other enemies of Taira except in their code names. I listened to Tokikazu talk about his wives and consorts. I admired him, especially for the phenomenon he had wrought with my calligraphy. I owed him for my new brush, which had brought my acceptance among the
kuge
and particularly my husband’s delight. Perhaps we could be friends, like Fourth Son and I had been. My life, and my head, were contingent upon it.

III. Shoes

Later that day in Grand Room, I was fatigued by the Hour of the Cock, the sun almost gone. An old man had spoken for a long time, saying many words with little information. From a small province, he complained of pirates. Many vessels sailed along an important river in his province, and this route to the capital was necessary for tributes to important shrines. The old man wanted our protection. I heard his threat to block the river and its precious cargoes if no troops came. He was a snake who still had its fangs.

I examined what he was doing. One of his hands was fingering the edge of his robe. The other clenched in a fist when he told lies. He would make good his warning if he was denied action, and I wrote this down. He droned on. I placed my brush next to my writing box, since he said nothing else of value. To keep my attention fresh while listening to his monotone, I focused on the rest of Grand Room.

I studied the samurai. I recognised all but two. Queasiness roiled in my stomach. I was familiar with Michimori’s guards, but not these men. They stood straight across from Michimori, furthest away yet were nearest the doors. Oddly, they were in positions where no other samurai could look directly at them. I scrutinised them, cautious to make no noise or any sudden movement to upset the screens.

Their pose was as all the other samurai. Their faces displayed little expression. I scanned each of them meticulously for any clue to their identities. The same sashes tied the same way as the others, the same lacing patterns in their armour. The shoes were the same colour, but the trim, yes, the gold trim did not go around one side.

I rapidly checked other samurai in Grand Room. The others’ gold trim went right around their shoes. Surely the two unknown samurai brought harm – could they be assassins?

Moving like a cat in front of an unaware mouse, I crept up from my cushions. I wrapped my kimonos around my waist so that I made not the tiniest swish behind the man’s solo song. I grasped my shoes and hems, each step on my toes. I avoided the squeaky planks. Holding my breath, I opened the hidden door slowly. Perspiration dripped between my breasts. Every moment could mean death for my husband.

An endless time to open, go through and, finally, close the door. I ran as a bird hopping from one safe spot to another until I was in a main corridor. All this time I asked, ‘Who? Who? from whom can I obtain aid? Who is available at this time of day? Who will believe me?’ I ran to Tokikazu’s quarters. He was not there. To the women’s apartments. Obāsan.

‘Help!’ I blurted, grabbed her arm and pushed her to run to Grand Room. ‘Michimori is in deadly danger! Come!’

Obāsan kept pace as I told her of the peril. It risked severe punishment to enter without permission. She said she knew what to do.

I stood by Grand Room’s great door, putting on my shoes. Obāsan went to the guards in front of it. Fortunately, one was Mokuhasa. We pulled him to one side and explained.

Obāsan rapidly instructed him, ‘Push me into Grand Room. I will be hysterical!’ He grabbed her. He marched in, dragging her. Next he shoved her forward. Mokuhasa loudly begged a thousand pardons for the interruptions. Obāsan screamed, ‘
Yah-eeeeee! Yah-eeeeee!
’

Mokuhasa said, ‘There is this hysterical old lady who . . .’ He made the special signal to our samurai.

The door to Grand Room shut. I repeated prayers of protection.

In our quarters that night, Obāsan related what had happened: ‘At the signal, all but the two strange samurai shifted to the alert position, changed their posture, hands on swords. By then Mokuhasa and I had placed ourselves between my lord Michimori and the impostors. Captain Tokikazu rushed in front of him, too. Warned, Michimori stood, hand on sword, ready to protect himself with his samurai.

‘The samurai surrounded the pair. The assassins fought, but were overwhelmed and prevented from committing
seppuku
.

‘I continued begging for forgiveness – at the intrusion – so that men from the provinces would not know what was transpiring.’ She cackled at her own cleverness.

At this Misuki smiled.

‘Mokuhasa and the samurai who helped us will be rewarded.’ Obāsan patted my hand. ‘Governor Michimori said land or rank, maybe both.’

‘Why would Governor Michimori do that when Kozaishō was the one who really gave warning?’ Misuki’s lips formed a pout.

I patted Misuki’s arm. ‘Mokuhasa and Obāsan truly saved him. Besides, since my presence was secret, I have no desire to be honoured.’ Grimacing at Misuki and Obāsan, I added, ‘If it had been either of you, you would have noticed such a blatant mistake sooner.’ They protested. I had been fortunate to recognise the difference when I did. It had been merely my
karma
to save his life, as he had saved mine. I was truly grateful to have done so.

IV. Fly In Web

That evening Michimori provided a celebration feast. People of rank, along with Obāsan, Akio and their families, assembled in Grand Room. Akio’s daughters had much changed. The oldest, Fumiko, was betrothed to one of Michimori’s personal samurai. Obāsan had few relatives, but her nephew, Ryo, attended and sat next to her.

Servants brought each person a tall tray made of lacquered wood, which stood above the floor. Next they carried a lacquered plate and chopsticks to each person. In the centre of each plate lay a mound of polished rice. Small dishes encircled the rice, and in each dish there was a little treasure: early spring or pickled vegetables; pickled and baked sea bream and shellfish; seaweed.

Jokes and stories regarding defeated foes flew around the room. It was the Day of the Monkey, again, so I remained awake all night and away from our living quarters. Michimori took me to the required neutral place, where we walked in one of his many gardens.

He could thrill at a single new leaf or bud and thanked those around him in such magnanimous ways, all of which enchanted me, but that night he was silent. I reflected on why: he had almost been assassinated: enemies had penetrated his home. His captain had bestowed an indecorous sword and scabbard upon his wife, an indication of intimate attentions. I hoped he did not believe they were reciprocated.

Escorted, I returned to my quarters the next morning, bringing ices for Emi. I needed to refresh myself and go behind the screens. I entered my apartments.

A monsoon had knocked down scrolls, scattered pillows, slashed quilts, upset futons, torn clothing and stuck the pieces into the corners. It looked as if some child, in a tantrum, had been at work.

Spiteful, yes. Child, no.

I checked, and no one was in the apartments. My next thoughts went to my notes, stitched into hems. Those garments had not been touched. For what could they have been probing? I went out to my little garden. The fishpond and the flowers would help me work on my new predicament.

When I opened the
shoji
, I saw Obāsan and Misuki holding each other, their eyes swollen, their sleeves blotched damp. Behind them, a pond-soaked heap of robes. Protruding from it I saw small colourless feet. At the other side, thick hair spread like seaweed across two limp arms stretched out as if reaching for a cat.

Emi.

She was face down. I wondered if her face looked like Tashiko’s after she had been murdered. I could not make myself turn it to see. I did not want to see. The pain of losing such a dear one, so hideously, again, seared me as if I had fallen into a fire pit. I stood, my body scalded, yet frozen inside.

I joined Obāsan and Misuki in a circle of sorrow for our lost one, the simple good one who had done her best. The hugs and tears could not stop my mind.

‘What happened? How did she drown?’ I screamed.

Obāsan’s voice cracked: ‘Behold her neck. The bruises on her shoulders.’

Misuki straightened the drenched robes. There it was, the same broken neck, the same twisted flesh, the same blank eyes. A lost friend, a lost companion. My eyes burned. Could it have been the work of the same man? Probably. Three Eyes.

The same as my beloved Tashiko. Obāsan held and comforted me. Much later she tried to coax me to eat, but I could not. My sweet Emi. My beautiful Tashiko. Obāsan stayed the night with me on my
futon
. Misuki wanted to stay, too, but she had touched the body and was defiled. I cried for the old and new losses. New horrors added to the old ones. Fear heaped on fear.

Oh, the senselessness!

A simple joyful woman

Long-time companion

Now a strangled, sopping heap

Rampage against this wasted death!

A message. Someone wanted Michimori dead, and I had interfered. Goro must have been behind this or Minamoto spies, perhaps even double spies. Goro had murdered my Tashiko and Michimori’s guards. He had counterfeited the seal, and now perhaps strangled this innocent.

Since I had not touched Emi, there was no need for Purification. A proper priest, code-named Plover, officiated at the ceremonies. He had earned his name because he, like the bird, had no neck and stood quietly for long periods. The completed ceremonies reassured me a little.

We cried and prayed for Emi’s soul to be reborn quickly into a happy life.

After the funeral, I took out my outrage and grief on a straw man with the
shobuzukuri naginata
. Tokikazu, Akio, my husband and I remained outside the pavilion to ensure that no one listened to us. Early morning proved best, because the birds would alert us with their silence or flight.

‘This is unusual.’ Tokikazu’s lips disappeared into each other. ‘They rarely leave a body for someone to find. This is a direct warning to you to stop.’ With a demand and a question at the same time, he gazed directly into my eyes without regard for Michimori and Akio’s presence.