James Clavell - Gai-Jin

by Gai-Jin(Lit)

  Australian beef.

  A few remained for a final prayer. Hers was for forgiveness that she had come to this church but she was confident that God would understand it was only a momentary, necessary protest to Father Leo. All eyes watched her as they filed out. Then she joined the last of them, nodding and saying "'Morning," to murmured greetings.

  The vicar stood just outside the door, greeting some, glowering at others. When she came up he became both seraphic and stuttering, "Oh, my,

  Miss Ang... oh Madame, how wonderful to see you, welcome to Holy Trinity, may we see more of you... if there's anything I can explain... Oh! No? Well I hope you enjoyed, well please, please come again, wonderful to see you, you're welcome..."

  "Thank you, Reverend," she said, bobbed a quick curtsey, hastily walked up the path and onto the promenade.

  Sir William was waiting for her, Babcott with him, muffled like everyone against the gusts. "Glad to see you up and about," Sir William said sincerely, "particularly here. We're rather proud of Holy Trinity and you're very welcome, very, and we're all happy you're here. The Vicar was a bit off today, sorry about that, he's usually quite good and not too much fire and brimstone. Did you enjoy the service?"

  "It was so different, Sir William," she said. "To worship in English and not Latin was exotic."

  "Yes, I suppose it was. May we walk with you?"

  "Please." They set off briskly, exchanging pleasantries and genial questions, avoiding the issue central to their mind with: the weather's shocking, isn't it? the football match yesterday afternoon was grand--may we escort you next week; have you seen the latest papers, or heard the

  Yokohama Players were putting on a performance of Romeo and Juliet--Mrs.

  Lunkchurch has kindly consented to play the starring role against Mrs. Grimm's Romeo. "Have you ever been on the boards, have you performed, Ma'am?"

  "Only children's Nativity plays in the convent," she said. "And not very well... oh!"

  A gust had seized Sir William's top hat and sent it twirling, Babcott just managed to hold on to his, she was not quick enough and hers went sailing away with hats all along the promenade to curses, wails, cheers and laughter. She joined the melee and scurried after hers, but

  Babcott retrieved it just before it went rolling down onto the beach, Sir William's was stopped by Phillip Tyrer who hurriedly handed it to him then charged after his own.

  "My best beaver," Sir William said sourly, brushing off mud that looked suspiciously like manure. Her hat was undamaged and, smiling, she put it back on firmly, adjusted her hat pin. "Thank you,

  George, I thought it was going for a swim."

  "So did I. Can we entertain you at lunch?"

  "Thank you but no, I'm staying indoors today."

  Soon they were at the Struan gateway. Both men kissed her hand and she disappeared inside.

  "Lovely lady, good sort, good sport,"

  Sir William said.

  "Yes." Babcott was frowning, looking out to sea.

  Sir William followed his intent look.

  Nothing amiss in the bay that he could see.

  "What's up?"

  "Her period's begun."

  "Christ Almighty, you've examined her? Or

  Hoag, why the devil didn't you tell me?"

  "We haven't examined her. I just know, that's all."

  "Eh? How d'you th--" he stopped as

  MacStruan and Dmitri went by, "'morning,

  'morning to you," he said impatiently, then took

  Babcott by the arm and started him down the street to the Legation, "How d'you know? Eh?"

  "I'm a doctor for God's sake. I saw her yesterday and today when I saw her without the veil it leapt into my head. Her face was a little puffy and when she ran after her hat I noticed she ran awkwardly."

  "Damned if I did! God Almighty!

  You're sure?"

  "No, but a hundred guineas says so against a farthing."

  Sir William frowned. "Will Hoag know just by looking at her too?"

  "I can't say."

  "In that case don't tell him."

  "Why on earth not?"

  "Let's leave it private between us, that's best." Then Sir William said kindly,

  "Let's leave Angelique to play her cards as she wants. It is her game, hers and Tess

  Struan's, not ours. It's ours no longer."

  Four Bakufu Enforcers, including a sergeant, stomped through the Yoshiwara gateway.

  They were like any other patrol of samurai except the men were tougher, meaner and more alert. It was early afternoon. In spite of the weather, the traditional, leisurely procession of courtesans, trailing maids, paraded up and down, showing off their finery one to another and to the groups of gai-jin gawking and drinking at the caf`es and Teahouse, laughing as the wind sent a few decorative umbrellas sailing.

  From time to time one of the Enforcers would stalk up to the doorman of an Inn, or patron of a

  Teahouse, or restaurant maid. At once the person would bow and grovel and say, "No

  Sire, the traitor Hiraga has not been seen, oh no Sire, thank you Sire, yes at once Sire, no I don't know him, Sire."

  Almost all of them knew where he was but kept their peace, hating Enforcers, knowing, also, no reward was big enough to prevent shishi vengeance, or Floating

  World disgust, at a betrayal. In their world, secrets were the spice and currency of life, adding to the day's excitement.

  The patrol's progress seemed to be haphazard. Then the Sergeant changed direction, turned into the alley of the Three Carp and hammered on the door in the fence.

  Hiraga was trapped. Whenever patrols were in the vicinity, lookouts alerted him in good time to flee to his underground hideaway in the tunnel where he now had a rough bed, candles, matches, food, his swords and pistol, and Katsumata's explosives. Today when the alarm reached him,

  Hiraga discovered other samurai searching that garden so there was no chance to reach the well.

  In panic, he had rushed for the kitchen area and had barely enough time to assume a disguise, secreted there, that Katsumata had given him as, a few metres away, masked by a hedge, the Sergeant shoved past the bowing doorman, kicked off his sandals and stomped onto the veranda of the main house.

  Unaware Hiraga was above ground and so near,

  Raiko came out to greet the Sergeant, knelt and bowed, her face all charm, her insides fluttering for this was the third day of searches--too many for comfort. "Good afternoon, Sire, so sorry the ladies are resting and not ready to receive clients."

  "I wish to search."

  "With pleasure, please follow."

  "Go to the kitchen."

  "Kitchen? Please, please to follow." She led the way pleasantly. When she saw Hiraga head down in the dirt amongst the dozen cooks and workers, her knees almost failed her.

  Hiraga was filthy, his head covered by the matted wig Katsumata had worn in

  Hodogaya, and naked except for a soiled loincloth and ragged singlet. "Tie a pebble under your instep, Hiraga," Katsumata advised.

  "Your walk as much as your face will give you away, smear dirt on your face and armpits, dung is better, pretend to be a scullion, do not act, be one. Meanwhile make incendiaries, instruct Takeda how to do it, and be ready for when I return..."

  The leather-faced sergeant stood with his hands on his hips in the silence and looked around.

  Painstakingly. Every corner, cupboard or storeroom was scrutinized. Rows of rare spices, teas, barrels of sak`e and bottles of gai-jin liquor and bags of the finest rice.

  He grunted to hide his envy.

  "You! Head cook!" The portly, terrified man raised his head. "Stand over there! Line up, all of you." In their haste to obey they stumbled over one another, Hiraga limping badly, dirty, naked but for the grimy loincloth and ragged singlet, shoved his way into line. Muttering curses, the samurai stared at each man as he went down the line. When he came up to Hiraga his nostrils wrinkled with disgust at the stench, then he moved to the next
man to the next man and the next, vented his pent-up rage by shouting at the last man who collapsed in a petrified heap.

  Then the Sergeant stalked back and stood in front of Hiraga, feet planted.

  "You!" he bellowed. "You!"

  Raiko cried out and nearly swooned, everyone stopped breathing, Hiraga fell on his face, grovelling and moaning, bracing his feet against the wall to hurl himself forward at the Sergeant's legs. But the man began raving, "You are a disgrace to a kitchen, and you," he whirled on

  Raiko who backed against the wall, terrified,

  Hiraga just managing to stop his lunge in time,

  "You should be ashamed to have a dung-covered scum like this in a kitchen for the rich." His iron-hard toe kicked the befouled in the neck and shoulder joint and

  Hiraga cried out in real pain, the wig almost came off and he grabbed it in panic, hands over his head. "Get rid of him. If this lice bag is here or in the Yoshiwara by sundown, I will close you for filth! Shave his head!" Another kick and he stalked out.

  No one moved until the all-clear came.

  Even then they started to pick themselves up warily, maids rushed in with smelling salts for Raiko who tottered away leaning on them, while kitchen workers helped Hiraga to his feet. He was in pain but did not show it. At once he stripped and went out to the servants' area and washed himself, scrubbing and scrubbing, filled with revulsion--he had had only enough time to dig his hands into the nearest bucket of night soil and smear himself and rush to a place near the fires.

  When he was partially satisfied he stalked naked for his house, to bathe again, this time in hot water, certain he would never feel clean again.

  Raiko intercepted him on the veranda, not fully recovered from her alarm.

  "So sorry, Hiraga-sama, the lookout failed to warn us but the samurai in that garden...

  Hot water and a bath maid is waiting for you inside but now, so sorry, perhaps you should go, it's too dangerou--"

  "I am waiting for Katsumata, then I shall leave. He has paid you well."

  "Yes but the Enforc--"

  "Baka! You are responsible for the warning system. If there is another mistake, your head goes in the bucket!"

  Grim-visaged he stalked into the bathhouse where the maid knelt and bowed so fast she banged her head. "Baka!" he snarled, not yet over his utter fright, the foul taste of fear still with him. He squatted on the tiny stool, ready for the maid to begin scrubbing. "Hurry up!"

  Baka, he thought enraged. Everyone is baka, Raiko is baka, but not Katsumata

  --he is not baka, he was right again: without the shit

  I would be dead, or worse, captured alive.

  YEDO

  Dusk was a busy time for the inhabitants of

  Yedo's Yoshiwara, the biggest and finest in all

  Nippon, a maze of tiny streets and pleasant places on the edge of the city, covering almost two hundred acres, where Katsumata and other shishi, or ronin, could hide in safety--if acceptable.

  Katsumata was particularly acceptable.

  Money was not a problem for him. He paid the waitress for his soup and noodles and strolled unhurried towards the House of Wisteria, still disguised as a bonze though now he wore a false mustache and was clad differently, his shoulders made wider with pads, his robe richer.

  Colorful lanterns were being lit everywhere, gardens and paths given their last brushing, fresh flower arrangements finished. Inside the

  Teahouses and Inns of greater or lesser importance, geisha and courtesans and mama-sans were being bathed and dressed, chattering and preparing for tonight's entertainment. Kitchens abuzz, men chopping and dicing and preparing sauces and sweetmeats and decorations and cauldrons of the choicest rice, cleaning fish and caressing marinades into them.

  Lots of friendly laughter. Misery here and there, some in tears thinking of clients allocated or strangers who must be received and welcomed with smiles and laughter, and satisfied--and not the young lovers many hearts yearned for, the yearning to be left alone and allowed to sleep. As always, mama-sans and older, more experienced courtesans gentled them, repeating the same dogma that Meikin was saying to Teko, Koiko's maiko, now in tears, who was to make her debut as a courtesan this night, "Dry your tears, Moonbeam, accept without thinking the sad impermanence of life, accept what lies ahead, laugh with your sisters, enjoy wine and song and your pretty clothes, gaze at the moon or at a flower and drift with the current of life like a gourd drifting downstream. Run along now."

  I will not accept that Katsumata betrayed my

  Koiko with just cause, Meikin thought, her heart aching. He had no need or justification to compromise my precious with that woman shishi, however brave! Worse, he was baka to end such a marvelous source of influence and private information from Yoshi's shadow, stupid stupid stupid! But it is done. Finished. Take your own advice, Meikin: Drift, what does it matter, truly?

  I accept that it matters. Koiko mattered to all of us, not the least to Yoshi, now pitilessly against all shishi.

  Again the mama-san sat at her mirror. The reflection stared back at her. Her makeup, heavier than usual, no longer hid the shadows and sagging care lines.

  I accept, too, that I have aged horribly since the shoya interrupted us, Raiko and me--

  Eleventh Day of Twelfth Month, Last

  Month, the last day of my life. Just thirty-three days ago. Only thirty-three days and I look like a crone, long past the normal span of fifty years. Thirty-three days of tears, a lake of tears when I thought I was safely beyond tears, sure that I had used up all my tears long ago, over lovers I can hardly remember, over one I can still feel and smell and taste and yearn for, my penniless young samurai who left without warning, without a word or letter, for another Teahouse and another woman, taking the little money I had saved and the broken pieces of my spirit that he cast into the gutter. And later then more tears over my baby son, dead in the house fire of his foster parents, his rich old merchant father wandering off like the other, my suicide unsuccessful.

  Too many Floating years. Thirty-three years drifting, one for each of the harrowing days.

  Now I have forty-three years, forty-three years today I was born. What should I do now? Soon the

  Lord Yoshi will demand payment. Karma.

  I accept that I trained Koiko, offered her, guaranteed her. What more can I offer in supplication? What can I do?

  Her reflection did not answer.

  A knock. "Mistress, Katsumata-sama is here, he is early."

  Her stomach felt hollow. "I will be there instantly."

  To calm herself Meikin drank some of the gai-jin brandy that Raiko had given her. When she was easier, she went out and along the exquisite corridor towards a guest reception room, all woods and tatami and shoji the most expensive. In wonderful taste. Bought and paid forwith so much effort and heartache and cajoling but, because of Koiko the Flower, her House was immensely profitable and a pleasure for her bankers. Today she had a meeting. "We notice, so sorry, your receipts are considerably down compared to last month."

  "It is the season, a poor time of the year for all Teahouses, and unseasonably cold.

  Business will pick up with the spring. We are in huge profit for the year, there's no need to worry." But she knew, and knew the

  Gyokoyama knew that most of her profit was because of Koiko, that now a gossamer curtain hung between her and ruin. If Yoshi decided.

  Then why increase your risk allowing shishi here, she asked herself. Particularly Katsumata-- he's the first of Yoshi's enemies now. What does it matter? There must be bad with the good, the bad can be dealt withandthe good enjoyed. Exciting to be part of the shishi, their bravery and sonno-joi, their fight for freedom from the yoke of centuries, laying down their lives for the Emperor in their tragic and hopeless quest, all of them so young and valiant, born to fail, so sad. And if they were to win, would those who next rule, will they free us from our yoke of ages?

  No. Never. Not us, not women. We will be where we are now, in
thrall to the yang.

  Her eyes caught a glimpse of the moon breaking out of a sunset-reddened cloud, for an instant peerless, to be swallowed again, the red becoming more brown and then gold and into darkening flames--one moment alive, the next dead.

  "Beautiful, neh?"

  "Yes, Katsumata-sama, so sad and so beautiful, yes. Ah, they have brought tea, so sorry you are leaving us."

  "I shall be back in a few days. Have you anything more from Raiko? Anything further about the gai-jin, their plans?"