He picked up his chopsticks as if the subject was closed, then set them down again. ‘You know I revere the Emperor as much as anyone — our family has old ties, Isamu. In fact, I have something to show you. Come, Misaki, you should see this.’
Although he hadn’t mentioned me, I rose too.
Shimizu called to Haru to light the lamps.
It was the first time I had entered the side of the house reserved for Lord Shimizu’s business. This reception room was larger than any room in the private quarters, twelve mats at least, and it was furnished with a low wooden desk. Behind it was the tokonoma, in which hung a sword, gleaming in the light of the standing lantern. Shimizu beckoned us closer so that we could see the engraving.
‘You see here? It was signed by a master swordsmith from the Kamakura period. It was given to our ancestor six hundred years ago by Emperor Go-Saga.’
I thought about what Ishi had said on my first morning in Edo, that Lord Shimizu was a true samurai, and I saw that she was right. He was modest, loyal and respectful, despite the fact that he came from an old and distinguished family. And his nephew would follow in his footsteps, I knew. After all, he was so unassuming as to bother with an innkeeper’s daughter . . .
‘And how are you finding Edo, Kasumi?’ Isamu asked as we returned to the private quarters.
‘It’s fine,’ I murmured.
‘Just “fine”?’ he asked. ‘Not interesting, not exciting? Tell me, where have you been, what have you seen? It’s not like you to be so subdued.’
‘I have nothing to tell,’ I said. ‘We haven’t left the house.’
There was silence, and as I looked over at him I could see that Isamu’s eyebrows were drawn together in a quizzical look. ‘You mean never?’
‘Not once.’
‘But what do you do all day?’
‘Once Misaki is dressed we sit in the reception room. If it’s not raining, we walk in the garden.’
‘But . . . aren’t you bored?’
Yes! I wanted to cry. How could I answer such a question? I longed to tell him that his uncle had made a mistake, that Shimizu’s wife found my presence irritating, that it was obvious I was too far beneath her to offer companionship. Yet I didn’t want to say anything that could be implied as criticism or ingratitude. For once, I was smart enough to keep my mouth shut.
The next morning we were back to our usual routine. Misaki served her husband breakfast, I arranged her hair and dress, then we went to the reception room to watch the rain.
Isamu’s surprise that we were so housebound had made me wonder why we never went out. It occurred to me that Misaki too was a stranger in the city; she probably had no idea of the sights. But Isamu had said there were interesting places to visit in our own district.
Summoning up the courage to speak, I said, ‘Isamu-san mentioned that the Kanda shrine is nearby. Perhaps we could go there one day?’
Misaki gave me a haughty look. ‘It wouldn’t do for us to be seen out on the street alone.’
Of course not. Once again, I had betrayed my commonness. I felt ashamed for having asked. My father had hoped my time here would teach me humility. Well, his wish was coming true, I thought bitterly. I spent every day in the company of someone who had nothing but contempt for me. To think I had hoped I’d fit in here, that I might find a life that suited me better than the one at home. How foolish I had been. The stake that sticks up gets hammered down: it was my new mantra. Father couldn’t have devised a better lesson for me if he’d tried.
Feeling dangerously close to crying, I drew a ragged breath just as Misaki heaved a sigh.
I turned to look at her and our eyes met. For once, she didn’t look away. ‘What did you do at home when it rained, Kasumi?’
‘Much the same as when it didn’t rain,’ I replied. My own voice sounded strange in my ears, I’d used it so little. ‘We had fewer guests during the plum rains, as there weren’t so many travellers on the highway, but we had to keep the inn clean and ready in case of visitors. I still went gathering in the forest most days.’ I recalled donning my cape made of straw, the dripping trees, the mist.
‘The forest?’ she repeated. She was looking at me curiously now.
‘My grandmother composed a poem about what it was like when the weather rolled into the valley. Would you like to hear it?’ Why couldn’t I stop talking? It was like a dam had burst.
‘All right.’
‘Mist drapes the valley
Closing its hand on each branch
Stroking ev’ry leaf,’ I recited. ‘She said it was for me. Because of my name, and because I knew the forest so well.’ I heard the yearning in my voice and was suddenly embarrassed to have revealed so much of myself.
Misaki had an odd expression on her face. ‘You’re from the Owari domain, I think my husband said? So this valley you’re talking about, is that where you lived before moving to Nagoya?’
‘Nagoya?’ I shook my head. ‘I’m not from Nagoya, my lady. I come from the Kiso Valley. My family has an inn there, in Tsumago — one of the stations on the Nakasendo highway.’
‘But the capital of Owari is Nagoya, isn’t it? That’s where you were a lady-in-waiting?’
‘No, my lady. I’ve never been to Nagoya. And I was never a lady-in-waiting.’ Had her husband really not told her? ‘I’ve only ever worked in the inn — gathering food in the forest, cooking . . .’
‘And my husband found you at this inn?’ Her tone was incredulous now.
‘Yes, my lady. I was serving the rice.’ I couldn’t believe Shimizu hadn’t told her any of this. I’d been sure that she was annoyed to be thrust into the company of someone so inexperienced and of such a lowly rank, and all along she’d thought I was a real lady-in-waiting! I could only imagine her chagrin now on finding that it was even worse than she’d thought. With a sinking heart, I waited for an exclamation of indignation or outrage, but there was a long silence.
Finally I dared to raise my head. To my surprise, her eyes were full of sympathy.
‘This must be quite a change for you then.’
‘Yes, my lady.’
‘So that unusual hairstyle on your first morning . . .’
‘I made it up,’ I confessed.
‘You made it up.’ Suddenly she snatched up a fan and began to wave it in front of her vigorously. ‘It’s very hot in here.’
If I didn’t know better, I’d have said she was trying not to laugh.
Chapter
Six
Green ribbons waving
Become a rippling sea
Blue fish shimmer through
Misaki’s manner was distinctly warmer after my revelation. When the rain eased and we went out to the garden, she walked beside me and we chatted. I began to feel optimistic about the year ahead; if only my mistress maintained her friendly demeanour, it wouldn’t be so bad.
And then there was another change for the better. I didn’t know if Isamu had said something to him, or if he had suddenly sensed the tedium of our days himself, but one night Shimizu returned home in time for dinner — and had news for us.
‘The daimyo invited an ikebana master to hold an exhibition at his mansion last year. Now the master is giving lessons to the ladies of the domain and I’ve asked him to come here this afternoon to begin instruction with the two of you.’
The look of gratitude and relief on Misaki’s face as she thanked her husband was revealing: she had been as bored as me.
I felt a surge of excitement at the thought of learning ikebana, the art of flower arranging. I had spent my life observing flowers. The purple blaze of azaleas around the ruins of the old castle high above Tsumago or the fiery rhododendrons along the road outside the village. The sunny yellow lilies by the side of the path leading to the forest or the inky blue of the modestly downturned columbines clumped in the bracken. I might have struggled with the other duties of a lady-in-waiting, but here was something I would be good at. I imagined my father’s reaction to the idea of m
e doing ikebana: dumplings not flowers, he would grumble, for to his mind practical things were more important than such frivolities as art and beauty. But then, no doubt, he would consider how such an accomplishment would increase my chances of making a good marriage. Ugh, now I was thinking about Kimura’s son, the yam. I thought instead how impressed Misaki would be by my sure touch and creative arrangements. And perhaps Isamu, too . . .
We were waiting in the reception room when the master arrived, a small slender reed of a man with a longer reed for a servant. The servant carried a bucket filled with irises, the splash of colour startling in the austere room. My fingers itched to touch the cool green stems.
‘I will begin with a demonstration, hmph.’ He ended his sentence with an emphatic noise as if to underline the significance of what he had said.
As the master spoke, his assistant began to lay out the tools.
‘Today we will focus on the simplest of arrangements, using only three stems.’ He gestured to the irises. ‘The primary one we call shin, the secondary soe and the tertiary tai. These represent heaven, earth and humanity, hmph.’
This was sounding complicated.
‘Heaven is, of course, the longest stem. The shin should be at least twice the height of the vase.’
The assistant measured the stem against the vase, then held it in the bucket of water to cut it. He handed the cut flower to the master, who continued, ‘The soe is two-thirds the height of the shin, the tai one-third, hmph.’
As the master began to arrange the stems in the vase, his movements deliberate and economical, he explained the correct angles of the stems.
My mind was beginning to wander. It was so stuffy in here. Didn’t Misaki feel it? I glanced at her. She held herself perfectly still, her hands in her lap, composed and attentive. It was hard to tell what she was thinking or feeling. Was she really interested in heights and angles? But she had probably done ikebana before, I realised. It was for my benefit that the master was starting with a simple arrangement.
‘The tai connects heaven and earth, hmph.’ With a series of deft movements, he placed the stems just so, then moved away so we could see the arrangement against the white rice-paper screen. ‘The lines should be natural and graceful, attaining harmony and visual balance, hmph.’
I saw what the master intended, and I admired it: precise and elegant and restrained — and nothing like the wild, free arrangements covering the hills around my home, where the flowers mingled with the grasses. While I appreciated the master’s work, I preferred irises in the meadow; the deep blue against lush green.
‘Now it’s your turn, my ladies.’
Me, a lady!
Misaki gave me a sideways glance, the corners of her mouth twitching, as if she found the notion of me as a lady as funny as I did. I didn’t mind; there was no malice in her look. Perhaps she felt sorry for me. She had the benevolence of a true samurai lady, I decided, who took care to treat her inferiors with respect — more so than when she had thought I was closer to her rank.
The assistant placed the wooden bucket full of irises between me and Misaki.
I held one to my nose and inhaled a scent like that of the violets which scattered the forest floor in spring, then ran a finger along the frill of the petals.
Okay, enough stalling. I had to make the longest stem . . . What was it called? Heaven: the shin, that was it. I had to make it twice the height of the vase. I measured and cut, then put the shin in the vase — but it wouldn’t stay upright, and then the soe wouldn’t lean at the correct angle. Huffing in frustration, I tried bending the stems forcefully to make them stay in position.
‘Ikebana is meant to calm the mind,’ the master scolded.
‘Yes, sensei,’ I muttered.
I decided to empty the vase and start again. First the shin . . . I withdrew my hand and it stayed in position. So far so good.
I looked across at Misaki. Still serene, she made a minute adjustment to the tai, the master hmph-ing his approval.
Next, the soe. It slid sideways and knocked the shin. I hissed in annoyance. Yanking the shin back into place, I held it there while I stabbed the tai into the vase.
I heard a sound. Misaki had covered her mouth with her hands and was trying to smother her laughter. Above her hands her eyes were dancing. My frustration evaporated. I began to laugh too.
I gestured to her arrangement, a model of elegance. ‘Why are you so good at it?’
Her laughter faded. Her eyes were fixed on the petals as she said, ‘Perhaps I have some of my father’s talent.’ It was the first time she’d spoken about her family and I wanted to know more, but her face was closed now; a screen had slid shut, its panes opaque.
‘He is an ikebana master?’ I guessed.
Her brow furrowed slightly as she adjusted the angle of the tai once more by an almost imperceptible degree. She didn’t reply.
I could have cursed myself for spoiling the good mood, but then she said in a normal voice, ‘Try making a split in the stem, like sensei showed us.’
Had he shown us that? I must have drifted off.
‘Ow!’ Distracted, I had cut my finger on the sharp edge of a leaf.
‘I suspect you don’t like ikebana, Kasumi.’ There was a hint of laughter in Misaki’s voice again.
‘I thought it would be more like the flowers in the valley.’ I had to blink back tears remembering the riotous rhododendrons, red and pink, the shock of a purple azalea in the deep green of the forest. It was the surprise, the irregularity that caused delight, not manufactured nature. ‘I’ll never be able to express myself like this.’
She smiled slightly. ‘Persevere, Kasumi.’ She lifted a shoulder. ‘What else do we have to do?’ It was a startling reference to the emptiness of our days. What she said next was equally startling. ‘You must miss your home very much.’
‘I do.’
‘Me too,’ she said, so softly she could only have been talking to herself. When I’d asked her the question before she had been evasive, now she was admitting it.
Was she unhappy here? Perhaps it was natural for a new bride to miss her home. Or had she split from her family, perhaps? I remembered my earlier musings on the subject of the secret. Maybe that was it. Or maybe, I thought with a flash of insight, her father was dead. The way her mood had changed so suddenly when she mentioned him, it sounded like she was in mourning . . .
‘Has your —?’ I began, but the master spoke over the top of me.
‘Ikebana is a time for silence and contemplation, not idle chatter. Let your arrangement of the flowers express your feelings, hmph.’
I looked from the clean, graceful lines of Misaki’s arrangement to the tortured stems of my own. The contrast was clear: her feelings were perfectly controlled and mine were in disarray.
‘You have a talent for ikebana,’ the master complimented her. He looked at my arrangement as if it pained him, then decided to ignore its existence.
‘I’ll see you next week, my ladies,’ he said, bowing, then directed his assistant to pack up his tools and bucket.
When they were gone, Misaki set our two vases on top of the shelves that stood opposite the tokonoma. The petals of my arrangement seemed to have wilted under the strain. I knew how they felt. Next week would be better, I vowed. I’d ask Misaki if I could practise in the meantime with some flowers from the garden.
But despite the challenges of ikebana, my whole mood felt lighter. With our hands and minds engaged, the afternoon had passed with the swiftness of a breeze and, best of all, Misaki was opening up to me.
‘A messenger came from the master,’ Ishi told us when we went to the kitchen to fetch tea. ‘He’ll be home for dinner, and he’s bringing his nephew too.’
‘Oh, I hadn’t even thought about dinner. What do you think, Ishi? It’s been so hot.’
‘I have bonito fresh today,’ the cook offered. ‘We could have it seared.’
‘Yes, with some shiso leaves and wasabi. And we should use differe
nt dishes tonight, don’t you think? Where’s Otami? No, don’t call her, I’ll go to the storehouse myself. Come help me choose, Kasumi.’
Ishi raised her eyebrows at me, and I knew she was wondering what had made Misaki so animated.
I just shrugged and followed my mistress outside.
When Shimizu and Isamu entered the reception room that evening they went at once to the shelf to admire our flower arrangements.
‘How did you find your first ikebana lesson, Kasumi?’ asked Shimizu.
My eyes flew to Misaki in panic. I couldn’t very well say disastrous! She smiled encouragingly.
‘It was very . . . interesting, sir. The shin and the tai and the, er, angles.’
As the two men looked from one vase to the other, Misaki kept tactfully silent, so I admitted, ‘Misaki’s is to the left; the vase on the right is mine.’
I could tell Isamu was struggling to keep a straight face.
‘What an eye you have, Misaki-chan,’ Shimizu said to his wife. ‘And such grace. You have captured the perfect artistic balance, such harmony between the three elements.’ Though she ducked her head modestly, her quick smile showed how her husband’s compliment had pleased her.
‘And you, Kasumi. Your arrangement is . . .’ He gestured with his hands as if they might magically produce the appropriate words.
‘Kasumi draws inspiration from the forest,’ Misaki explained, her hand in front of her mouth to hide her smile. ‘Where the spirit of nature is wild and free.’
It was a valiant defence of my lopsided and somewhat limp effort, which looked about as wild and free as cabbage leaves in miso soup.
Shimizu looked surprised and, I thought, pleased to see his wife in such a mischievous mood. He was smiling broadly as he turned back to regard my arrangement. Far from being derided, my poor efforts were being looked on almost with approval. I could only imagine what my father would have said.
After our first ikebana lesson, Misaki began to treat me more as a companion than a servant. She still volunteered no information about herself, but she was always urging me to tell her about life in the valley, in the inn, to describe the beauty of the forest, and the days passed more quickly and pleasantly.
The Peony Lantern Page 6