Grass for His Pillow

by Lian Hearn

  Kaede herself did not know. The tears flowed, and when they finally stopped, she fell asleep.

  For several days she slept, woke, ate a little, and slept again. Then she slept less but lay with her eyes closed, listening to the household around her. She heard Hana’s voice regaining its confidence, Ai’s gentle tone, Shizuka singing and scolding Hana, who had taken to following her around like a shadow, trying to please her. It was a house of women—the men stayed away—women who were aware they had come close to the brink of disaster, were still not out of danger, but so far had survived. Autumn slowly turned to winter.

  The only man was the physician, who stayed in the guest pavilion and visited her every day. He was small and deft, with long-fingered hands and a quiet voice. Kaede came to trust him, sensing that he did not judge her. He did not think her good or bad—indeed, he did not think in such terms at all. He only wanted to see her recover.

  He used techniques he had learned on the mainland: needles of gold and silver, a paste of mugwort leaves burned on the skin, and teas brewed from willow bark. He was the first person she had ever met who had traveled there. Sometimes she lay and listened to his voice telling Hana stories of the animals he had seen, huge whales in the sea and bears and tigers on land.

  When she was able to get up and walk outside, it was Dr. Ishida who suggested that a ceremony should be held for the lost child. Kaede was carried to the temple in a palanquin, and she knelt for a long time before the shrine to Jizo, the one who looks after the water children who die before they are born. She grieved for the child whose moment of life had been so brief, conceived and extinguished in the midst of violence. Yet, it had been a child begun in love.

  I will never forget you, she promised in her heart, and prayed it would have a safer passage next time. She felt its spirit was now safe until it began the journey of life again. She made the same prayer for Shigeru’s child, realizing she was the only person apart from Shizuka who knew of its brief moment of existence. The tears flowed again, but when she returned home she did indeed feel that a weight had been lifted from her.

  “Now you must take up life again,” Dr. Ishida told her. “You are young: You will marry and have other children.”

  “I think I am destined not to marry,” Kaede replied.

  He smiled, assuming she was joking. Of course, she thought, it was a joke. Women in her position, of her rank, always married, or rather were married to whoever seemed to offer the most advantageous alliance. But such marriages were arranged by fathers, or clan leaders, or other overlords, and she seemed suddenly to be free of all these. Her father was dead, as were most of his senior retainers. The Seishuu clan, to which both the Maruyama and Shirakawa families belonged, was fully occupied with the turmoil that had followed the downfall of the Tohan and the sudden unexpected rise of Arai Daiichi. Who was there to tell her what to do? Was it Arai now? Should she be making a formal alliance with him, recognizing him as her overlord? And what were the advantages or disadvantages of such a move?

  “You have grown very serious,” he said. “May I ask what is occupying your mind? You must try not to worry.”

  “I have to decide what to do,” she said.

  “I suggest doing nothing until you are stronger. Winter is nearly upon us. You must rest, eat well, and be very careful not to take a chill.”

  And I must consolidate my lands, contact Sugita Haruki at Maruyama, and tell him I mean to take up my inheritance, and find money and food for my men, she thought, but did not speak this aloud to Ishida.

  As she grew stronger she began to restore the house before the snows began. Everything was washed, new matting laid, screens repaired, tiles and shingles replaced. The garden was tended again. She had little money to pay for anything, but she found men to work for her on the promise of payment in the spring, and every day she learned more of how a look or a tone of voice won her their devoted service.

  She moved into her father’s rooms, where at last she had unrestricted access to his books. She read and practiced writing for hours at a time, until Shizuka, fearing for her health, brought Hana to distract her. Then Kaede played with her sister, teaching her to read and use the brush like a man. Under Shizuka’s strict care Hana had lost some of her wildness. She was as hungry for learning as Kaede.

  “We should both have been born boys,” Kaede sighed.

  “Father would have been proud of us, then,” Hana said. Her tongue was pressed against her upper teeth as she concentrated on the characters.

  Kaede did not reply. She never spoke of her father and tried not to think about him. Indeed, she could no longer clearly distinguish between what had actually happened when he died and the feverish imaginings of her illness. She did not question Shizuka and Kondo, afraid of their replies. She had been to the temple, performed the rites of mourning, and ordered a fine stone to be carved for his grave, but she still feared his ghost, which had hovered at the edge of the redness of her fever. Though she clung to the thought I have done nothing wrong, she could not remember him without a twinge of shame, which she masked with anger.

  He will be more helpful to me dead than alive, she decided, and let it be known that she was reverting to the name of Shirakawa, since it had been her father’s will that she should be his heir and should remain in the family home. When Shoji returned to the house after the period of mourning and began to go through the records and accounts with her, she thought she detected some disapproval in his attitude, but the accounts were in such a terrible state that she used her anger to cow him. It was hard to believe affairs had been allowed to deteriorate so badly. It seemed impossible to secure enough food for the men she had already and their families, let alone any others she might hope to employ. It was her main source of anxiety.

  With Kondo she went though the armor and weapons and gave instructions for repairs to be done and replacements ordered. She came to rely more and more on his experience and judgment. He suggested she should reestablish the domain’s borders, to prevent encroachment and to maintain the warriors’ fighting skills. She agreed, knowing instinctively she had to keep the men occupied and interested. For the first time she found herself grateful for the years in the castle, for she realized how much she had learned about warriors and weapons. From then on, Kondo often rode out with five or six men, making use of these expeditions to bring back information too.

  She told Kondo and Shizuka to let pieces of information fall among the men: an alliance with Arai, the campaign for Maruyama in the spring, the possibility of advancement and wealth.

  She saw nothing of Lord Fujiwara, though he sent gifts: quail, dried persimmons, wine, and warm quilted clothes. Ishida returned to the nobleman’s residence, and she knew the doctor would inform him of her progress, and certainly would not dare keep any secrets from him. She did not want to meet Fujiwara. It was shameful to have deceived him, and she regretted the loss of his regard for her, but she was also relieved not to see him face-to-face. His intense interest in her unnerved and repelled her, as much as his white skin and cormorant eyes.

  “He is a useful ally,” Shizuka told her. They were in the garden, overseeing the replacement of the crushed stone lantern. It was a cool clear day, of rare sunshine.

  Kaede was watching a pair of ibis in the rice fields beyond the gate. Their pale pink winter plumage glowed against the bare earth.

  “He’s been very kind to me,” she said. “I know I owe my life to him, through Dr. Ishida. But it would not trouble me if I never saw him again.”

  The ibis followed each other through the pools that had collected in the corner of the fields, their curved bills stirring up the muddy water.

  “Anyway,” she added, “I am flawed for him now. He will despise me more than ever.”

  Shizuka had said nothing of the nobleman’s desire to marry Kaede, and she did not mention it now.

  “You must make some decisions,” she said quietly. “Otherwise we will all starve before spring.”

  “I am reluc
tant to approach anyone,” Kaede said. “I must not seem like a supplicant, desperate and needy. I know I must go to Arai eventually, but I think it can wait till winter is over.”

  “I believe the birds will begin to gather before then,” Shizuka said. “Arai will send someone to you, I expect.”

  “And what about you, Shizuka?” Kaede said. The pillar was in position and the new lantern in place. Tonight she would place a lamp in it; it would look beautiful in the frosty garden under the clear sky. “What will you do? I don’t suppose you will stay with me forever, will you? You must have other concerns. What about your sons? You must long to see them. And what are your commands from the Tribe?”

  “Nothing more at the moment than to continue looking after your interests,” Shizuka replied.

  “Would they have taken the child as they took Takeo?” Kaede said, and then immediately added, “Oh, don’t answer me, there is no point now.” She felt the tears threaten and pressed her lips firmly together. She was silent for a few moments and then went on, “I suppose you keep them informed of my actions and decisions too?”

  “I send messages from time to time to my uncle—when I thought you were close to death, for instance. And I would tell him of any new developments: if you were to decide to marry again, that sort of thing.”

  “I won’t be doing that.” As the afternoon light began to fade, the pink plumage of the ibis glowed more deeply. It was very still. Now that the workmen had finished, the garden seemed more silent than ever. And in the silence she heard again the promise of the White Goddess: Be patient.

  I will marry no one but him, she vowed again. I will be patient.

  It was the last day of sunshine. The weather became damp and raw. A few days later Kondo returned from one of his patrols in a rainstorm. Dismounting rapidly, he called to the women in the house, “There are strangers on the road: Lord Arai’s men, five or six, and horses.”

  Kaede told him to assemble as many men as possible and give the impression there were many more at call.

  “Tell the women to prepare food,” she said to Shizuka. “Everything we have, make it lavish. We must seem to be prospering. Help me change my clothes, and bring my sisters. Then you must stay out of sight.”

  She put on the most elegant robe that Fujiwara had given her, remembering as she always did the day she had promised it to Hana.

  She will get it when it fits her, she thought, and I swear I will be there to see her wear it.

  Hana and Ai entered the room, Hana chattering excitedly and jumping up and down to keep warm. Ayame followed, carrying a brazier. Kaede winced when she saw how full of charcoal it was: They would shiver more when Arai’s men were gone.

  “Who is coming?” Ai asked nervously. Ever since their father’s death and Kaede’s illness she had become more fragile, as if the combined shocks had weakened her.

  “Arai’s men. We have to make a good impression. That’s why I’ve borrowed Hana’s robe back again.”

  “Don’t get it dirty, Older Sister,” Hana said, groaning as Ayame began to comb out her hair. Usually she wore it tied back. Loose, it was longer than she was tall.

  “What do they want?” Ai had gone pale.

  “I expect they will tell us,” Kaede replied.

  “Do I have to be here?” Ai pleaded.

  “Yes. Put on the other robe Lord Fujiwara sent, and help Hana dress. We must all be here together when they arrive.”

  “Why?” Hana said.

  Kaede did not answer. She herself hardly knew the reason. She had had a sudden image of the three of them in the lonely house, the three daughters of Lord Shirakawa, remote, beautiful, dangerous. . . . That was how they must appear to Arai’s warriors.

  “All-merciful, all-compassionate one, help me,” she prayed to the White Goddess as Shizuka tied her sash and combed out her hair.

  She heard the tread of the horses’ feet outside the gate, heard Kondo call a welcome to the men. His voice hit just the right note of courtesy and confidence, and she thanked heaven for the Tribe’s acting skills and hoped hers would be as great.

  “Ayame, show our visitors to the guest pavilion,” she said. “Give them tea and food. The best tea and the finest pottery. When they’ve finished eating, ask their leader to come here to speak with me. Hana, if you are ready, come and sit down next to me.”

  Shizuka helped Ai with her robe and quickly combed her hair. “I will hide where I can hear,” she whispered.

  “Open the shutters before you go,” Kaede said. “We will get the last of the sun.” For the rain had ceased and a fitful sun cast a silvery light over the garden and into the room.

  “What do I have to do?” Hana said, kneeling beside Kaede.

  “When the men come in, you must bow at exactly the same moment I do. And then just look as beautiful as you can and sit without moving a muscle while I talk.”

  “Is that all?” Hana was disappointed.

  “Watch the men; study them without seeming to. You can tell me afterward what you thought of them. You, too, Ai. You must give nothing away, react to nothing—like statues.”

  Ai came and knelt on Kaede’s other side. She was trembling but was able to compose herself.

  The sun’s last rays streamed into the room, setting the dust motes dancing and lighting up the three girls. The newly cleared waterfall, made louder by the rain, could be heard from the garden. A shadow flashed blue as a kingfisher dove from a rock.

  From the guest room came the murmur of the men’s voices. Kaede imagined she could catch their unfamiliar smell. It made her tense. She straightened her back and her mind turned to ice. She would meet their power with her own. She would remember how easily they could die.

  In a little while she heard Ayame’s voice telling the men Lady Shirakawa would receive them now. Shortly after, their leader and one of his companions approached the main house and stepped onto the veranda. Ayame dropped to her knees at the edge of the room, and the retainer also knelt outside. As the other man crossed the threshold Kaede let him see the three of them and then bowed to him, touching her forehead to the floor. Hana and Ai moved at exactly the same time.

  The three girls sat up in unison.

  The warrior knelt and announced, “I am Akita Tsutomu from Inuyama. I have been sent to Lady Shirakawa by Lord Arai.”

  He bowed and stayed low. Kaede said, “Welcome, Lord Akita. I am grateful to you for your arduous journey and to Lord Arai for sending you. I am eager to learn how I may serve him.” She added, “You may sit up.”

  He did so, and she gazed frankly at him. She knew women were supposed to keep their eyes cast down in the presence of men, but she hardly felt like a woman anymore. She wondered if she would ever be that sort of woman again. She realized Hana and Ai were staring in the same way at Akita, with opaque, unreadable eyes.

  He was approaching middle age, his hair still black but beginning to thin. His nose was small but slightly hooked, like a bird’s, giving him a rapacious look, offset by a well-formed mouth with rather large lips. His clothes were travel-stained but of good quality. His hands were square and short-fingered, with strong, splayed thumbs. She guessed he was a practical man, but also a conspirator, given to trickery. There was nothing there to trust.

  “Lord Arai asks after your health,” he said, looking at each of the sisters, then returning his gaze to Kaede. “It was reported that you were unwell.”

  “I am recovered,” she replied. “You may thank Lord Arai for his concern.”

  He inclined his head slightly. He seemed ill at ease, as if he were more at home among men than among women and unsure of how to address her. She wondered how much he had heard of her situation, if he knew the cause of her illness.

  “We heard with great regret of Lord Shirakawa’s death,” he went on. “Lord Arai has been concerned about your lack of protection and wishes to make it clear that he considers you to be in as strong an alliance with him as if you were part of his family.”

  Hana and Ai
turned their heads, exchanged a look with each other, then resumed their silent staring. It seemed to unnerve Akita even more. He cleared his throat. “That being the case, Lord Arai wishes to receive you and your sisters at Inuyama to discuss the alliance and Lady Shirakawa’s future.”

  Impossible, she thought, though she said nothing for a few moments. Then she spoke, smiling slightly: “Nothing would give me greater pleasure. However, my health is not strong enough to permit me to travel yet, and as we are still mourning our father, it is not fitting that we should leave home. It is late in the year. We will arrange a visit to Inuyama in the spring. You may tell Lord Arai that I consider our alliance unbroken and I am grateful to him for his protection. I will consult him as far as I am able and keep him informed of my decisions.”

  Again the look between Hana and Ai flashed through the room like lightning. It really is uncanny, Kaede thought, and suddenly wanted to laugh.

  Akita said, “I must urge Lady Shirakawa to return with me.”

  “It is quite impossible,” she said, meeting his gaze and adding, “It is not for you to urge me to do anything.”

  The rebuke surprised him. A flush of color spread around his neck and up to his cheekbones.

  Hana and Ai leaned forward very slightly and their gaze intensified. The sun went behind clouds, darkening the room, and there was a sudden rush of rain on the roof. The bamboo wind chimes rang with a hollow note.

  Akita said, “I apologize. Of course you must do as seems fitting to you.”

  “I will come to Inuyama in the spring,” she repeated. “You may tell Lord Arai that. You are welcome to spend the night here, but I think you will need to leave in the morning to get back before the snow.”

  “Lady Shirakawa.” He bowed to the floor. As he shuffled out backward she asked, “Who are your companions?” She spoke abruptly, allowing impatience to creep into her voice, knowing instinctively that she had dominated him. Something about the scene, her sisters, her own demeanor, had cowed him. She could almost smell it.