The Pillow Book of the Flower Samurai (8 page)

Proprietor Chiba away for a whole month – that should make her happy, I thought. It would make
me
happy.

I helped Tashiko with her tasks whenever Proprietor Chiba did not want us to sing or dance, which was seldom. Because I helped, she had time to teach me games. We played Go. It was simple, though there were a great many black and white stones. She always won, but I liked the game and did not mind.

On most days Tashiko let me soak as long as I wanted after she had scrubbed me. She wiped her tears when she dried me. I thought she was tired or overworked. She had to look after all our new clothes.

In the evening Proprietor Chiba often ordered Tashiko to paint our faces white and dress us in elaborate kimonos. I loved her soft touches on my face. She taught me more dances, which I found easier to learn than sewing.

We learned more dances with masks. I liked the Lion Dance. I wore a bright purple robe and white slippers made of thick, knitted silk. They had deerskin soles, good for dancing. The masks were attached under our chins and behind our heads with strings. Tashiko used swords with the dance, and I liked to dance with the weapons. Proprietor Chiba encouraged me and told me I had talent and called me beautiful.

Proprietor Chiba recited the story of the Chinese General Ryōō. Because beauty distracted his soldiers, he wore a mask. ‘You are such a lovely girl, Kozaishō.’ Proprietor Chiba stroked my hair and face. ‘I am happy to be distracted by your beauty.’

Tashiko received no such loving words, which troubled me.

Several days after my first welcome to the samurai fields, Master Isamu and Akio approached me. I bowed as they had taught me. Both men’s eyes crinkled in return.

‘We are called to Big House.’ Master Isamu lowered his face to me. ‘Kozaishō, you are also called to Big House. Follow us now.’

I had to walk fast to keep up with them. Perhaps they were sending me home. No. Tashiko had made clear that no one went home. What had I done? Was I dishonoured? What would happen to my family? To my family’s land? They needed that land – which I had given them. My thoughts turned dark.

Proprietor Chiba stood at the edge of Big House’s
watadono
. His jaw muscles jumped out and in. His thin lips disappeared into each other. The priest with the black horse sat next to him. Master Isamu and Akio greeted them and went up the stairs to sit behind Proprietor Chiba, one on each side.

I walked up to the steps and did the full five-point bow. Face to the ground, I waited. Was Proprietor Chiba going to beat me in front of them? Tell the samurai to use me as a target? Was I about to die?

‘Kozaishō, it seems . . .’ Proprietor Chiba’s voice trailed off.

Master Isamu gave a little cough.

‘It – it seems,’ Proprietor Chiba blustered, ‘those two omens together, the white pheasant and the dragon cloud, are . . . too powerful to be ignored.’

Master Isamu cleared his throat.

‘I have agreed that you will . . . train with the boys.’

My mouth smiled; my whole body squealed. My dream had come true. I took a deep breath, but remembered not to move.

Akio cleared his throat.

‘Eh . . . Akio shall be your tutor in these matters only,’ Proprietor Chiba said, sounding strained.

I heard armour creak. I did not know who had made the noise. I dared not lift my head.

‘And . . . and, ah, they shall be obeyed as I am obeyed. On the field. When you train. But only then.’ He folded his arms across his belly. ‘
Only
then.’

‘Kozaishō, it is good to see you again,’ I heard the priest say. ‘I love to see beautiful, talented girls.’

His voice rasped like an icicle on my bare skin. He stepped towards me and touched the hair at my nape. I shivered, but forced my attention to Proprietor Chiba’s words.

‘You must still practise your dancing. That is your first, your most important, duty.’ Proprietor Chiba’s words sounded loud, like thunder.

I took two breaths before speaking. ‘May I please have permission to speak, honourable Proprietor Chiba no Tashiyori?’ I used my politest voice, my nose in the dirt.

‘Naturally, Kozaishō,’ he said, his voice tight, like an out-of-tune
biwa
string.

When I lifted my head, Proprietor Chiba had twisted his fingers into pale fat worms. ‘Thank you, honourable Proprietor Chiba, for the great honour you have bestowed upon me.’

‘Tell Tashiko she is to see you are ready and on the training field at the Hour of the Snake,’ Proprietor Chiba snapped. ‘You may leave us.’

I raced to Lesser House, my hands over my mouth – otherwise my yelps of delight might have ruined the good luck. Later, safely alone, Tashiko and I held each other, hopping up and down, singing our songs.

Besides befriending Tashiko, I hold that moment as one of the happiest in my years at Proprietor Chiba’s
sh
ō
en
.

III. First Weapons

My stomach swirled, like a stream after heavy rains. I could not fail. Not at this. I would be sent home. My family would lose their land – the land for which they had sold me. They would not have enough food. I would bind myself to samurai work with all my strength.

Akio stood before me. I thanked the Goddess of Mercy. He was truly here. This was not a dream. His eyebrows danced like dragonflies above his eyes.

‘Today, little one, I demonstrate. You must not talk. Tomorrow you will shoot the arrows and show me what you have learned.’

No talking? I could do that. Perhaps. Yes. I could.

Uba, one of the boys in my group, a thin boy with wilful hair, prodded me with his elbow. I grabbed his hair and heaved. I did not speak. He stopped, for a time. I had wanted to punch him, as I had Fourth Daughter, but the punishments here hurt much more than they had at home. Home. I remembered the
sh
ō
en
was now my home. No talking. No crying, either.

Uba and the younger boys tied quivers made of lacquered plant fibres around their chests. The older boys strapped on wooden or woven bamboo quivers. Tomorrow would be my day.

To be close to arrows flying through the air! The wind from them cooled my face. I held my breath until the heaven-splitting sound pierced me each time an arrow struck a target. The targets looked like men: painted faces and bodies on leather packed with straw. The older boys’ arrows struck the targets more often than my group’s. Their teacher scolded them more often than Akio did us younger children. I thought that rather odd.

Akio came to me. ‘Hold these for me. Only hold them.’ A bow, a
tsuru
, a bowstring, and an arrow, with the feathers of the fierce wild hawk, lay in my hands.

My hands shook from the force pouring out of them. Such power held in my small hands.

Rattan bindings reinforced the bow. I touched the loose bowstring. Hemp, coated with wax to make a hard, smooth surface.

Akio had told me to hold them. Perhaps I could string his bow for him. Surprise him with my strength. I had seen many people string bows. First I placed the bottom loop, bound with white silk ribbon, on the bow. I already knew the top loop from the bottom one: red on top, white at the bottom. Like Master Isamu, I stuck the top loop’s silk flap between my teeth, then grabbed for the other end of the bow with both hands. I would not have to wait until tomorrow to show Akio my learning.

I reached – high – on my toes – stretched – jumped. Again.

My hands did not reach halfway to the other end. I could not string Akio’s bow. I hated being short.

‘Kozaishō, I did not say anything about placing the
tsuru
on my bow.’ A shadow darkened my sky. Akio.

‘I humbly beg your forgiveness.’ I did not bow low because my hands were full.

‘If you disobey again there will be consequences.’ He grew closer, like spring thunder. ‘If anyone disobeys a second time, they are no longer allowed to work with us.’

He took his weapons from me.

‘Yes, Master Akio.’ I made a five-point bow.

‘No, no, little one. Master Isamu is Master Isamu, and Proprietor Chiba is Proprietor Chiba. I am merely Akio, your tutor.’

‘Yes . . . honourable Akio.’

For all that, I promised myself that some day my arrows, with hawk feathers, would stand in my shining lacquered quiver next to my fully strung bow.

Remembering Akio’s directions, I returned to study the boys’ archery. Closer, each movement, the little mysteries I had watched from far away, resolved themselves. They did not just grab the arrow or the string. They positioned the arrow to the right of the bow. They hooked their thumbs under the arrows, placing the first two fingers on the thumb, which I copied, pressing my lips together. Left arm straight, right hand near the right ear. They relaxed the two fingers and at the same time turned the bow until the string went outside the arm.

Unsuccessful the first few times, I copied and watched, watched and copied, imagining how amazed Akio would be after he had given me my bow and I could shoot well.

Mid-morning, the Hour of the Dragon, servants came on to the field with water, rice and pickled vegetables. The boys stopped archery and took practice swords made of oak,
bokken
, from the selection laid out. They worked in pairs.

I was not allowed to string the smallest bow. I began with a rubber practice bow, a
gomuyumi
, and practised the eight movements of
hassetsu
: footing, correct posture, readying the bow, raising the bow, drawing the bow, completing the draw, release and continuation. Each movement had to be perfected, as with dancing. So, repetition and more drills.

In the time that followed, Akio could not find a
bokken
for me. A standard one was too long. When I held a child’s
bokken
I could barely look down at the top. I hated being short. I lifted the weapon and needed both hands. The follow-through of every stroke threw me off balance, causing me to stumble and fall, usually on my partner. When I noticed this, I chose Uba. On my second attempt, he noticed it, too, and kicked me. I kicked him back, as I had fought my brothers. The only difference was that my sisters were not there to cheer me on.

‘Kozaishō! Uba!’ Akio bellowed. A big hand grabbed my shoulder. ‘Stop!’ He gave me a glance that reminded me of father, a testy, troubled look, which meant that if I kicked Uba again, I would be punished.

At least Akio had his other hand on Uba.

‘Kozaishō, stand over there. Uba, stay here.’ His eyebrows gathered together in the middle. ‘Remember, Benevolence is part of the Way.’

The Way? What was that? It was not a good time to ask a question.

Akio went to the bushes and brought back a thick branch, nearly the length of my leg. I wanted to run. The branch appeared many times the thickness of Proprietor Chiba’s switch, and his switch hurt enough. None of Tashiko’s ointment would work on my wounds after Akio had hit me with the branch.

I moved a little away from him, a coil tightening inside me. Perhaps he would behave like Proprietor Chiba. He had seemed kind, but so had Proprietor Chiba at first. I might not be able to keep quiet, struck with that.

‘Use this, Kozaishō, for sword work until we can find a properly sized
bokken
for you. Here!’ Akio tossed the branch to me.

With the weight of the branch and the loosening of my insides, I slipped but, able to breathe again, I promised myself I would not fight Uba or anyone else. The branch Akio had found for me worked better anyway.

‘Stick-girl! Stick-girl!’ Uba shouted, almost every day that first month. He made sure he kept himself out of my reach. I ignored him. My brothers had called me names.

After the fight, Akio supervised us precisely, just as my father had the new green shoots after a long winter.

‘Watch your right leg,’ Akio warned.

‘Straighten your arm.’

‘Bend your leg.’

Over and over.

Uba whined, ‘I am tired. How much more must we do? When can we have a break?’

‘Well, I have the strength to go on. Will anyone challenge me?’ I answered.

I was warmed by Uba’s lack of grit and hid a smile. I enjoyed the samurai drills. I did not tire of them. I loved becoming the Pink Flower samurai.

To leave the practice fields meant working on the dances, dressed like a doll and ready to be beaten.

An older boy, who was tall like my oldest brother and had strung my bow, had heard me. ‘I will. Begin.’

His group and mine made a circle around us.

I took my stick against his
bokken
.

Two strokes.

In two strokes he had me flat on the ground.

Uba cackled, and the other boys hooted. I promised myself I would work harder.

About a month after I had joined the lessons Akio called us younger ones into a circle. ‘Kozaishō has been with us for a short time,’ he explained, ‘and she has learned well and fast.’

I raised my eyes to his for more praise. He made a familiar movement with one eyebrow, meaning ‘no’.

‘She has much to learn, but she will continue with this.’ His eyebrows soared to his topknot as he displayed a bright blue square cloth, its four corners tied together, a
furoshiki
. He laid it on the ground on another cloth and untied it. Inside lay a
bokken
, made of oak like the other boys’, yet thinner and shorter. He presented it to me. It was a perfect fit for my hands. The handle bore a carefully carved tree with full summer leaves.