Falling From the Floating World

by Nick Hurst

  ‘Really,’ I said, fighting the temptation to nestle up to her. ‘I’m OK. I think things have been resolved – I’m not in any danger now.’

  She didn’t look like she believed me but with a full ward of patients it wasn’t something on which she could dwell.

  ‘If you say so,’ she said, sounding reluctant.

  She started to make her way off but then turned.

  ‘You’re here for another day. Let me know if you change your mind.’

  But I hadn’t changed my mind, and when Sumida arrived the next day I followed him to the car, my little finger a swathe of bandages that snaked around the rest of my hand.

  ‘I hope it isn’t too sore.’

  Takata nodded towards my finger as I sat down.

  ‘It’s not too bad,’ I said, the painkillers doing little to mask the searing pain.

  ‘I’m sorry I wasn’t notified before this happened. It was not in my plans.’

  His tone was icy. Considering my reluctant involvement, I assumed his displeasure in this particular instance wasn’t directed at me. I thought a pre-emptive apology for anger that was warranted wouldn’t be unwise.

  ‘The blame lies with me. What I did was unforgivable. I can’t apologise enough.’

  ‘It wasn’t your smartest move,’ he said, although he looked far less concerned than I’d worried he would. ‘But we are left with a problem – beyond your reduced grasp.’

  He held up his own left hand, which also included a finger of curtailed ambition.

  ‘You don’t have any need to use a sword?’

  ‘Other than when I’m told to cut my fingers off, no.’

  ‘Then I can assure you it restricts you very little in everyday life. It isn’t, however, a look normally adopted by foreign workers at well-respected NGOs.’

  ‘I would have thought it slightly unusual.’

  ‘We’ll have you fitted with a prosthetic of course,’ he said, looking thoughtful. ‘But even if we could get it ready in time, you won’t have healed enough to wear one. Let’s see how you’re looking nearer the AGM. Either we’ll do the whole hand in bandages like you have a sprain, or put a plaster cast on it and pretend you broke your hand.’

  There was a knock.

  ‘Come in,’ said Takata.

  Kurotaki entered, looking strangely subdued.

  ‘Ah, Kurotaki, you wanted to speak to Clarence-san?’

  Kurotaki came up to where I was sitting.

  ‘I want to apologise for the other night,’ he started. ‘I didn’t give appropriate thought to the implications of my behaviour and its effect on the organisation. I will endeavour to improve my conduct and act in a manner more befitting of my position from now on.’

  He bowed deeply, turned and left the room. I looked at Takata. I couldn’t have been more bewildered if Kurotaki had given me a hug.

  ‘As I said, your loss is not beneficial to the Takata-gumi,’ he said by way of explanation.

  ‘And his finger?’

  I was making reference to some familiar-looking bandages that swallowed up Kurotaki’s hand.

  ‘You see, this is what I have to put up with. I rebuke someone for making another commit yubitsume, a practice you know I don’t like. And what response do I get? These ridiculous customs are so deeply engrained, the only way he can think of showing his remorse is to hand me his finger in turn.’

  He shook his head.

  ‘And the apology to me?’

  ‘That comes from the heart too. You see Kurotaki, in his own way and with his own logic, believes completely in the yakuza of lore. Honour of thieves, protector of the common man, all of that. It’s just that he’s as confused as a mafioso who prays to God and then commits all sins known to man.

  ‘Anyway, there’s a saying: “If the oyabun says the passing crow is white, then all must agree.” So even if he thought he was right, if I tell him it was wrong, then by everything he believes in, it was wrong.’

  I wondered at the relationship between them, one who had absolute faith in all the myths and tenets, the other who believed in nothing at all. Two completely different men who had nonetheless found understanding and mutual respect. Albeit with a few bumps along the way.

  ‘In this case, I don’t think my views on the colour of fauna come into play. He realises he made a mistake. So you can take the apology as genuine.’

  He pursed his lips.

  ‘Nevertheless, it might be prudent to show some sensitivity towards him for the time being.’

  I nodded. I had no intention of putting his sincerity to the test.

  ‘Right, let’s move on.’ He looked at me closely. ‘While I appreciate your enthusiasm, you may have become a little more proactive than I intended when we last spoke.’

  ‘I didn’t know what to do. I felt I had what I needed in my grasp but then it was pulled away,’ I said, words tumbling out now I could finally speak to him. ‘I know what I did was unacceptable and I apologise. But it was the only thing I could think of to do.’

  He massaged the little finger of his left hand.

  ‘You’re in too much of a hurry. You think everything has to happen at once. It doesn’t. It’s like fishing – you reel the fish in a little at a time. If you yank at it you lose your catch.’

  I hoped we weren’t returning to riddles and metaphors. I just wanted a straight explanation so I could do whatever I needed to stay alive.

  ‘It’s like I said before, Clarence-san, things happen around you. There are plenty of people in the world who can react to events. But the catalysts, those who effect action – people like you – are rare. That makes you valuable. Unfortunately you seem unaware of your ability and see failure where there is, in fact, success.’

  ‘I succeeded?’

  ‘The right people are now aware of certain activities – you’ve done your job.’

  ‘But I didn’t get to the bottom of the scandal.’

  ‘I already know everything there is to it,’ he said, as though it were obvious I wasn’t meant to find anything out from the start. ‘That wasn’t the point.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘Thank you for your efforts, Clarence-san. Now take the opportunity to rest. Allow your finger to heal, and recover from what must have been a traumatic couple of weeks. I’ll see you again before the AGM but please, refrain from doing anything else. When the time’s right, you’ll be fully briefed.’

  He gave me a pointed look.

  ‘Your job now’s to rest. Nothing else.’

  Not long before, a week without physical and verbal abuse would have been par for the course. Now it seemed as close to paradise as I could get. I just had to hope that at its end, having apparently done my job, I could avoid death and not have to worry about hell.

  SIX

  Dreaming of the Floating World 2

  A gust of wind sent a brilliant cluster of red maple leaves spiralling past her as she looked from the balcony onto the main parade. They would be replaced by cherry trees in spring, peonies in early summer, then chrysanthemums before it all started again. Only in Yoshiwara could one street be the perfect place to view every season.

  She looked down and saw the usual mix of people as afternoon passed into evening – tourists gawking at the famed quarter, eager to see but lacking the money or desire to taste its fruits; writers and artists emerging from a hard day’s work or a particularly long night; and merchants, dandies and samurai filtering in for the business that was the pleasure of the night.

  She stepped back into the room, slid the door shut and thought it through again. It was the best course of action. She couldn’t wait for others in hope.

  ‘Michiko,’ she called out to the apprentice.

  The patter of feet quickly echoed from the adjoining room.

  ‘Yes, Onēsan?’

  ‘Mi-chan, I need to ask a favour of you. But I must warn you, it’s not an ordinary task. If you don’t feel comfortable I’ll understand. It concerns my father.’

  ‘I�
�ll do whatever you need,’ said Michiko without hesitation. ‘What is it you’d like me to do?’

  Katsuyama smiled. She’d been lucky with her apprentice. When Michiko opened her mouth it was usually to speak sense, and scheming and sycophancy were not among her traits.

  ‘I know you’re close to Kaoru’s apprentice,’ she said, referring to the only tayū in Yoshiwara who could come close to her own allure. ‘Despite the fact your mistresses fight like cat and dog.’

  Now Michiko smiled.

  ‘That’s right. Namiji was in Yoshiwara when I arrived. She helped me settle in.’

  ‘I’d like you to speak to her,’ said Katsuyama. ‘Lord Genpachi favours Kaoru. I want to know if there’s been any loose pillow talk between them. Can you do that for me?’

  They both understood the significance of the request – Genpachi’s dispute with her father’s lord had led to her family’s downfall. Theirs had been a hatred passed down from their fathers. It had concluded when Genpachi out-manoeuvred his foe and had him stripped of his land, his title and everything else he possessed. He had been forced to shave his head, retreat to a temple and live out his days as a monk.

  If he had been made to commit seppuku his retainers and their families would have had to do the same. But they were lucky; his lesser punishment meant those who could find new positions were employed by other lords. The others, although now rōnin, were at least still alive.

  For Katsuyama’s father it had been different. As senior retainer it had been decided his punishment should be more severe. His land was taken, his stipend removed and he had been banished from within sight of the castle walls. A proud and distinguished samurai, he had been reduced to working the land to eke out a living for his family. But the land had been ungenerous in its returns. That was when Katsuyama had taken her new name and gone to Tanzen.

  Then her life had turned on a twist of fate. When the first shōgun consolidated the country, the samurai became warriors without a war. It had left them frustrated and quick to be drawn into fights. As they lost their status as protectors, ordinary townsfolk’s deference to them decreased and their own self-confidence grew. The two factors combined for a perfect storm and one had erupted in Tanzen. Its refurbishment in blood and gore gained infamy nationwide.

  The bathhouses had borne the brunt of officialdom’s consequent wrath. But while it had spelled their end, it had marked a new beginning for their most famous employee. Katsuyama had moved to Yoshiwara the same month, bought in on a contract that would feed her family for a significant time.

  ‘Of course,’ said Michiko. ‘Is there anything in particular you expect to hear?’

  ‘No. I mean, I don’t know. I can’t think who else would wish ill of my father so I have to believe Lord Genpachi is involved. I don’t expect him to discuss the matter with a courtesan, but there may have been conversations that seemed unusual or people mentioned she hadn’t heard talk of before. Please try to find anything that stands out.’

  She stood as two assistants adjusted her kimono, plain white until painted with a swirl of flowers, birds and clouds at her favourite artist Moronobu’s hand. Her hair she insisted on finishing herself, tying the wide white silk ribbon in its jaunty loop to the right.

  ‘Hold the mirror a little further up please,’ she requested of one of the assistants.

  She cocked her head, wiggled her hips and then smiled to let them know it was just right.

  ‘Is everyone ready?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes, ma’am, except Michiko. No one knows where she is.’

  ‘Don’t worry about Mi-chan. She can catch up.’

  As she spoke, Michiko burst into the room, her face flushed. Katsuyama cut in before she could blurt out anything better said when they were alone.

  ‘Mi-chan, get yourself ready. We can talk on the parade.’

  They made their procession from her residence to the ageya, the houses where only the highest ranked courtesans entertained. In front, a male servant held a lantern and led the way. Behind were two maids who could double as entertainers depending on the number and desire of her guests. Obasan was at her left, there as a chaperone to take care of Katsuyama’s interests and those of the house. And to her right, Michiko, included for her innocent repartee and the energy of youth.

  Michiko had been sold by her impoverished parents when she was nine. She would have to work until she could repay the sum; no easy matter considering its size and the expenses endlessly accrued. Yet in many ways she was lucky. She had escaped starvation and done her duty by helping her family do the same. She had also been attractive and spirited enough to be bought by a leading house.

  Katsuyama shivered as they passed small alleyways to the left and right. In these, the workers’ servitude swallowed the best years of their lives. The girls who worked in their bordellos weren’t courtesans. Their training wasn’t in words, culture and art. They were prostitutes confined within their houses, who served customers at their owner’s desire and suffered brutality at his hand.

  Michiko would learn from her and become a courtesan of the highest ranks. Then she would have the chance to pay off her contract or have it bought out by a client instead.

  Katsuyama’s attention returned to the parade. Crowds had gathered for her as they always did. On a whim she kicked her heel a little harder and the red silk of her inner kimono swirled up to reveal the white skin of a rarely seen thigh.

  ‘So, Mi-chan,’ she said, through barely moving lips. ‘What is it you have to tell me?’

  Michiko pretended to support Katsuyama’s arm so she could turn slightly and speak unseen.

  ‘You know Mizuno, the rōnin who now owns a dry goods store in Nihonbashi? Apparently he met Lord Genpachi in Yoshiwara not more than a month ago. For part of the evening all the servants and courtesans were sent from the room.’

  It was intriguing. Theoretically, all from street-sweeper to shōgun were equal within Yoshiwara’s walls, but it was still unusual for a daimyō, a lord of Genpachi’s standing, to consort with a merchant, a person of the lowest social class. And Mizuno was curious in himself; after being reduced to a rōnin no one knew how he had progressed so swiftly to his astonishing wealth.

  The question was how to find out more. But it was a question for another day. The procession had reached the ageya, its sumptuous facade resplendent in the sun’s evening glow. She needed to bring herself back to the present. She would return to this quandary the following day.

  The screams reverberated through the house and brought Katsuyama rushing down the stairs. Servants crowded around Michiko, who was as quiet as they were loud. She sat unmoving and ashen-faced.

  ‘Mi-chan, what is it?’ she called out above the furore.

  Michiko was unable to say anything but held out her left hand. It was covered in blood.

  ‘Call for the doctor at once and bring water and cloth to my room.’ Katsuyama softened her voice and put her arm around her apprentice. ‘Mi-chan, come with me.’

  Upstairs, they sat on the tatami by the low table. Katsuyama held the young girl to her and gently stroked her hair. She had wound a piece of cloth around the base of Michiko’s finger in order to stem the bleeding. She’d then washed and wrapped the wound. Just the very tip had been sliced off, leaving a straight edge where it should have been round.

  ‘Mi-chan, what happened?’ she coaxed.

  Her apprentice snuggled into her.

  ‘I went back to talk to Namiji, to see if there was anything else I could find out. But we were overheard. Kaoru was furious. I was dismissed but I snuck back around the side. They beat Namiji horribly and told her she’d never work for them again. They’re going to sell her to a brothel, even though there are good houses that would happily buy her out.’

  Michiko sobbed. She’d retained some of her innocence but not enough that she didn’t know what lay ahead for her friend.

  ‘But what happened to your finger, Mi-chan?’

  Michiko looked up at her and then back d
own at her hand as though she had forgotten anything was wrong.

  ‘I was returning from their house when I was grabbed and pulled into an alley. One man held me from behind and another brought out a knife. He told me that I and any others should leave our enquiries alone. If not, he would take my hand the next time and if that didn’t stop us he would cut out my heart.’

  Katsuyama hugged her tightly.

  ‘I’m so sorry, Mi-chan, I had no idea anything like this would happen. But you needn’t worry – there won’t be a next time. I’ll take care of everything from here. As for your friend, I’ll do all I can to prevent her going to a brothel, even if it means extending my own contract to buy her out.’

  Michiko hugged her back but Katsuyama scarcely noticed; her mind had already moved on. They had miscalculated badly if they thought she, a samurai, would be scared off at such little threat. Now she knew she was on the right trail there would be no holding her back.

  SEVEN

  I woke with a start, strangely excited by images of a slender thigh. I struggled out of bed and made my way to the shower, stepping in only when it was piping hot. As a way to clear my mind it came second only to walking and I was sorely in need of the help. Sure enough, as the jet of water hit me, I was rocked by a thought.

  What if everything led to Takata?

  If my dreams were me trying to work out asleep the things I couldn’t while I was awake, had I created this evil character from Takata? Perhaps in real life there wasn’t another conspirator. Maybe I was seeing things that weren’t there – or, more likely, things Takata had planted in my head. Even if there was someone else it would make more sense for him to be a pawn in Takata’s game – Takata wasn’t the kind of man to follow another’s lead.

  The thought was unsettling. If he was misleading me on this, he could be lying about Tomoe as well. Maybe he had taken her. If he had, it wouldn’t make sense to have me nosing around in earnest. That could be why he was holding me back. This thing about catalysts and the AGM – it might be smoke and mirrors. It was more likely I was being kept as a bargaining chip, or bait.