The Pillow Book of the Flower Samurai
Page 1
Copyright © 2012 Barbara D. Lazar
The right of Barbara D. Lazar to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
Apart from any use permitted under UK copyright law, this publication may only be reproduced, stored, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means, with prior permission in writing of the publishers or, in the case of reprographic production, in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency.
First published as an Ebook by Headline Publishing Group in 2012
All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Cataloguing in Publication Data is available from the British Library
eISBN : 978 0 7553 8927 8
HEADLINE PUBLISHING GROUP
An Hachette UK Company
338 Euston Road
London NW1 3BH
www.headline.co.uk
www.hachette.co.uk
Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Acknowledgements
Historical Note
Principal Characters
Maps
Prologue
Book 1
I. Conspiracy
II. The Negotiation
III. New World
Book 2
I. A Rival
II. Rules
III. Risk
IV. Ambush
V. Story of Samurai
Book 3
I. Omens
II. The Practice of Omens
III. First Weapons
IV. Third Month Third Day Dancing
V. Six More Weapons
Book 4
I. Flaw
II. Succession
III. The Gods of Directions’ Directive
IV. Honourable Hiroshi
V. Madam Hitomi
Book 5
I. Surprises
II. Work
III. One Story
IV. Advancement
V. The Exceptions
VI. Metamorphosis
VII. Backward Blessing
Book 6
I. A Bright Time
II. Additions
III. Emi Laughs
IV. A Contest
V. Treachery
Book 7
I. Knowledge
II. Proposal
III. Framework for Vengeance
IV. Decision
V. Systems
VI. Information
Book 8
I. One in Particular
II. Premonitions
III. Preparations
IV. A Beginning
V. Purchases
Book 9
I. Echizen Governor Taira No Michimori
II. Messengers
III. Battle
IV. Byōdōin
V. Advice
Book 10
I. Homecoming
II. Portable Shrine
III. A Secret
IV. Temporary Home
V. Misuki’s Exorcism
Book 11
I. Abstention
II. Obāsan
III. New Home
IV. Service
V. Practising and Politics
VI. Journey with the Emperor
Book 12
I. Sea Bass
II. Summoned
III. Meeting Again
IV. Three Cups of Sake
V. A Hunter’s Dog
VI. Another Road
Book 13
I. New Work
II. Secret Papers
III. Players
IV. Number Two Serving Girl
V. Samurai Training
Book 14
I. Temples
II. Secret Door
III. A Game of Go
IV. Pretence and Counsel
V. Birth Anniversary and The Coin
VI. Gifts
Book 15
I. Festivals and Famine
II. Spiders
III. Shoes
IV. Fly in Web
V. Weaving Webs
VI. Journeying
VII. The Trap
Book 16
I. Return
II. Enemies
III. Honour and Blood
IV. Vision
V. Burned
VI. Enemies of Enemies
Book 17
I. Settling
II. Banished
III. Tokikazu’s Armour
IV. Mountain Surprise
V. The Coin
VI. Last Performance
Book 18
Glossary
Author’s Notes
Taira Clan Genealogy
Minamoto Clan Genealogy
Genealogy of Emperors of the Late Heian Japan
Acknowledgements
First, I wish to express my most profound gratitude to my superb agent, Alexandra Machinist, as well as to Dorothy Vincent and Kaitlin Nicholis at Janklow & Nesbit Associates. Second, my extraordinary indebtedness to Claire Baldwin, Emily Kitchin and Hazel Orme for their enthusiasm and their superb pruning, shaping and editing.
Gratitude to Fred Brandow who assisted initally, to Diane Capito, Ginny Ford, Barbara Gere and Leila Klemtner, a writing group who nursed the manuscript to its adolescence; to Jean Jackson, Butch McGhee, Diane LaCombe, Jacque Paramenter, and to the Penultimates – Tim Talbert, Beaty Spear, Steve Stewart and Marjorie Brody, who cherished and badgered it into adulthood. An extraordinary and heartfelt appreciation to Barbara J. Gere who is the artist who created the magnificent maps. I wish to thank the San Antonio Public Librarians, especially those at Tobin Oakwell Library and the Interlibrary Loan Department for obtaining the inaccessible, and the reference librarians at Trinity University for their never-ending assistance. A special appreciation to the Japan America Society of San Antonio, Peter Hoover and particularly Ikuko Groesbeck. Also my indebtedness to Curt Harrell and Dr Roger Spotswood for their lavish book loans and knowledge as well as Dr Fred Notehelfer, Dr Hank Glassman, Reiko Yoshimura at the Freer Gallery of Art, Sharon S. Takeda, Greg Pflugfelder, Ann Yonemura, and Michael Watson.
My love and wholehearted gratitude to Dr Diane B. Latona (nee Mirro) who gave me more wisdom and information than are in books, to my father who bequeathed a love of words, to my mother who bequeathed a love of reading and to my husband and life partner, Gregory Surfas, who endured my scribblings – mornings, evenings, middle of the nights and weekends – and whose love sustained me through each sentence.
Historical Note
The Gempei War, the cataclysmic clash between the Taira and Minamoto clans in late twelfth-century Japan, heralded the end of its Golden Age (794-1185). At this critical time in Japan’s history, warriors continued their progression to power until they controlled the country several centuries later. Many Noh and Kabuki plays are set during this war because of the war’s innumerable heroic exploits and battles. These plays are written from the Minamoto point of view, but The Pillow Book of the Flower Samurai’s point of view is the Taira’s.
Principal Characters
Kozaisō, writer of the Pillow Book, formerly Fifth Daughter
At a shōen (estate)
Daigoro no Goro, Buddhist priest (code name Three Eyes)
Chiba no Tashiyori, proprietor of the shōen
Akio, samurai (code name Oyster)
Tashiko, a girl
Emi, another girl (code name Lotus)
Master Isamu, samurai and master teacher
Uba, a boy and student of the martial arts
At the Village of Outcasts
Hitomi, owner and manager
Rin, chojā (head, lead) of the ‘free’ Women-for-Play
Aya, a girl
Misuki, a girl (code name Lumbering Badger)
Otfukure, elderly Woman-for-Play, teacher of the pleasing arts
At Rokuhara
Obāsan, Honourable-Aged-One-Who-Waits-On-Women in Michimori’s household
Ryo, Obāsan’s nephew (code name Snake)
Hoichi, Mokuhasa’s cousin
Retired Emperor Go-Shirakawa (code name Fox)
Antoku, Emperor, son of Takakura and Kiyomori’s daughter
The Taira Clan (Kozaishō’s)
Michimori, a commander of the clan
Tokikazu, captain to Michimori (code name Genji)
Mokuhasa, samurai and special guard to Michimori
Sadakokai, samurai and special guard to Michimori
Kiyomori, uncle of Michimori, leader of the country
Koremori, cousin to Michimori (code name Wisteria)
Shigehira, cousin to Michimori (code name Oak)
Tsunemasa, cousin to Michimori (code name Drake)
Tomomori, cousin to Michimori (code name Large Cicada)
Munemori, cousin to Michimori (code name Purple Grass)
Norimori, father of Michimori
The Minamoto Clan
Yoshitsune, nephew of Yoshitomo (code name Tiger)
Yukiie, brother of Yoshitomo (code name Hare)
Yoshitomo, father of Yoritomo, Noriyori and Yoshitsune (code name Ox)
Kiso Yoshinaka, nephew of Yoshitomo and Yukiie (code name Rat)
Noriyori, son of Yoshitomo (code name Sheep)
Yoritomo, son of Yoshitomo (code name Horse)
For readers not familiar with the Kozaishō Diaries, Dr Sosiko Yatsumura and I worked Kobe, Japan’s rugged terrain, from 2000 to 2010. The site yielded discoveries worth our blisters.
We unearthed a burial place with two complete skeletons. The bodies faced each other, in the extended position, the male on the left, the female on the right. The crowning glory was a document box sealed into a separate chamber.
The box was undamaged, wrapped in oiled cloths with a waxed seal. Gold and mother-of-pearl cranes fly across a heavily lacquered background of gold and silver dust on its lid. The seal was identified as that of Minamoto no Yoshitsune, the victor of the Ichinotani battle in 1184. The tests on the papers and other contents support the dating of mid-to-late twelfth century.
I save the best for last. Inside the box, intact, we found the Kozaishō Diaries or, as they were called in Heian Japan (the period 794–1185) pillow books i.e. diaries people stored where they slept. My deep thanks go to Dr Bernard Hoffenberg’s hard work and superlative translation.
Readers may check the published papers about these documents. The diary was written from the Taira Clan’s perspective, not the victorious Minamoto Clan of the civil war, the Genpei War (1180–85). There are a significant number of discrepancies with the Heike Monogatari, the fictionalized account of the war written about fifty years earlier.
I bet on the bones. The bones don’t lie.
Dr Isabell ‘Izzy’ Jenkins
Associate Professor,
Archaeology Department
University of Arizona
I caress the dagger’s dark curve against the breast of my white kimono. As I step outside the tent, the ocean wind batters my face, singeing my eyes with acrid smoke. Bile swells into my mouth at the stench of impromptu pyres. I swallow and compel my body to be quiet, to calm my mind and soothe my spirit. I do not wish others who may be watching to think I am afraid, although I sit secluded in the forest behind the Ikuta Shrine.
‘My lady, time is short.’ Misuki – my companion, my friend – brings the ties. Her hands quiver, but, together, we lash my legs. She and I listen to the remains of the battle, the rumblings of the sea, the screeching of the hawks.
Misuki’s red-rimmed eyes splash her face with tears, but after protest, she swears to do all I ask of her. I trust Misuki with my life’s work, my story. My death.
She practises the stroke. A soft swish brushes my neck. Its crisp sound is the last I will hear. I thirst – to be with husband, lover, perhaps parents and siblings, most of the people I love. Though not all. The blade catches the last of the sun. That I will not see the beautiful sunset eases me. I am ready.
In my left hand I hold a scrap of cloth, all that remains of the smock my elder sister embroidered, the smock I wore the day my life twisted on to this path. I smile as I place it in Misuki’s hand. She knows where the scrap must go. Tranquillity pervades my bones – with Misuki’s protection, with my life, and with that young girl I once was, the journal I maintained, and the last of my names, Kozaishō.
Book 1
Like the pious man who planted an orchard so that
Others might enjoy the fruits, I trust these words
I offer may be of use to others.
I. Conspiracy
I shared the dream with my family at our morning meal. In this one, I sat in a polished-wood room. My many kimonos glittered while servants brought trays with artfully arranged food in lacquered bowls. I ate with glossy black chopsticks.
My parents listened and hugged me, but my mother clicked her tongue. My brothers ignored my dreams, and my sisters laughed. I frowned at my sisters and pulled their hair. I did not like their laughter, and they knew it.
Later that morning I tried to learn. ‘Please let me try again,’ I begged my next elder sister.
‘Why do you bother? You never get it right.’
‘I used the grinding stone.’ I said. ‘It took a long time, but I did it right. Please?’
‘You have watched me many times.’ Fourth Daughter continued her sewing.
‘Perhaps if I sat next to you.’
Fourth Daughter spread her knees and lifted her cloth. ‘Just this once. Keep away from the needles.’
My gaze followed her flashing fingers. Fourth Daughter was our best seamstress. I knelt on the straw-scattered earthen floor looking up through her hair. I leaned close.
‘Her breathing ruins my stitches,’ Fourth Daughter whined.
I bent closer and ignored her. I had to learn. Her needle pricked my forehead, and I wailed.
‘I was afraid I would hurt her,’ Fourth Daughter said to my mother, with the tearful tremors she had practised in her voice. ‘I warned her!’
‘Instead of helping, you hurt me.’ I tugged her hair, hard.
Fourth Daughter screeched.
Mother scowled. Her eyebrows knotted together.
Second Daughter cocked her head and placed another finished embroidery on the mound atop a clean cloth. ‘Could not Fifth Daughter do something else?’
‘Nothing. She is useless.’ Fourth Daughter rubbed her head. ‘She scorches the barley. She could not carry the buckets to Father and the boys.’
‘If Fourth Daughter can do it, so can I,’ I said, hoping that this was true. I was excited at the notion of doing something else, although afraid I might fail.
‘She is too small.’ Mother tutted. ‘Such an important task.’
‘She is faster than a dragon, especially with farm tools.’ Second Daughter defended me.
‘She has not been to the fields since Winter Solstice,’ Mother said, in a softer voice.
‘Remember last harvest, when she begged to work the grinding stone?’ Second Daughter reminded my mother.
Mother’s shoulders drooped.
‘That flat stone was almost as big as she was, yet she put the thick cords around her fingers and ground some barley.’ Second Daughter had begun a new piece of sewing.
‘I’m not sure she can carry the yoke and the buckets with the weight of the water.’
I widened my eyes and stared at her. ‘I can do it. I can.’
‘She cut grain as well as Third Son, and he is older by three years,’ Fourth Daughter said. She had told me she hated carrying the buckets.
My place in the family would ha
ve been secure if I had been a boy. As if being the fifth girl was not enough of a burden, I had no skill in any feminine activity.
‘Give me a chance, please.’ I was thankful for Fourth Daughter’s support, although the buckets were her task. Knees bent, I pretended I was already carrying that heavy weight. I clenched my hands, feet apart, solid in the straw. Hoping.
Finally Mother said, ‘Practise first.’
I had ranked as less than useless. Perhaps I could do this important thing.
After putting the yoke around my neck, Mother attached the buckets. They were heavy, but I knew I was strong. Even so I would have lost half the water in two steps. The empty buckets swung too far out with every pace, but only at first. My sisters laughed, which made me want to pull their hair. I learned to walk with a rhythm – head up, shoulders straight and hands on the yoke.
‘None of your older sisters could balance then so quickly, Fifth Daughter.’
Fourth Sister glared. I knew not to make a face at her or she would hit me later.
Mother demanded I wear my festival clothes, inside out as customary; she knew I loved them and would take extra care. ‘You will not return with the usual filth.’
Years of wear had dulled the festival smock and trousers to pink. Mother had dyed them red for First Daughter, now married with two children. Second Daughter had burned a hole at the end of one sleeve. Third Daughter, just married, had torn a seam and repaired the trousers with white silk thread. Fourth Daughter had embroidered flowers on the front of the smock.
I dressed, and Mother made the directions to the fields into a song. She and I sang it until I had memorised it. She placed a kiss on my neck and folded a thick cloth under the wooden yoke and its heavy load.
‘You will do well.’ She kissed the top of my head.
Second Daughter wished me good fortune. Fourth Daughter crossed her eyes and wrinkled her nose. She was probably glad that I would do her task and not be underfoot all morning.
This was something I might be able to do.
I plodded along the paths around plots of land, careful to avoid loose soil, alert for stones, determined not to lose a drop of my father’s water.
The crop grew short on the fields, not tall enough for late spring, perhaps because it had been cold, with little rain. The last time the barley had been short like this, the hot soup had tasted terrible, scratched my throat and had not satisfied my stomach for long.