The Pillow Book of the Flower Samurai

by Barbara Lazar

  Proprietor Chiba pushed me along the row of collected people. A beautiful array of cloth and colours flickered on each: deep leaf green with gold thread, sea blue with red flowers, earth black with dazzling sunset pink. I tried to concentrate.

  I smelt sweat and food or soap when I passed each person. I also saw their hands and feet. The hands were reddened and rough, calloused like Father’s and my brothers’. Would I ever see my father and brothers again? Others were coarse, chapped like Mother’s and my sisters’. I would probably never see my family again. These feet – huge, small, or gnarled. One pair even turned inwards. Each person wore shoes of heavy cloth, not like my straw ones.

  My toes already poked through my sandals, and my face grew warm trying to hide them. Father would not make me a new pair until the straw came in. No, he would not. He was not here.

  I wanted to cry. My tears would not fall. I had eaten a little barley before dawn, nothing since. My throat and belly clawed at me. Night was approaching and darkness was breaking over me.

  Yet on this day I had discovered that not only was I worth the price of land, I was handsome and beautiful.

  BOOK 2

  I. A Rival

  A girl scuttled up and stood next to me, taller than I, perhaps one or two years older. A pale blue kimono encased her. With long fingers she grasped my arm above the elbow. Thick lashes made her black eyes large in her round face. She chewed her bottom lip. She bowed to Proprietor Chiba and murmured to me, ‘Tashiko.’

  ‘Tashiko will attend to Kozaishō,’ Proprietor Chiba ordered to the people. ‘If any observe Kozaishō in need, assist her. Do not speak to either girl directly, unless you have my consent.’

  Tashiko pushed on my shoulder to guide me. Her sweet smell reminded me of bush clover and pinewood, not at all like the spicy sweat of my sisters.

  When we were away from the others, I bowed. ‘Permission to ask a question, Honourable Tashiko?’ She seemed only a little older. Still, I wanted to make a good first impression.

  ‘Just Tashiko. No permission needed.’

  ‘Tashiko, what is a “prescribed walk”?’

  ‘The ride Proprietor Chiba takes when he has been told to walk.’

  This made no sense to me. Therefore I asked no more questions.

  Tashiko steered me to a miniature house a short distance from the shō. ‘Lesser House,’ she whispered.

  We climbed what Tashiko called ‘steps’ to a roofed floor around the house, which Tashiko called the watadono. ‘For rain or shade,’ she said. Yellow cloth covered Lesser House’s window. I touched it when Tashiko’s back was turned. My fingers remembered what Mother had taught me: it was a heavy silk. This type of cloth allowed the light in and also gave privacy. Mother’s lessons. What if I failed here?

  Inside, coloured woods, pieced together, covered the ground and shone like a full moon with no clouds. Heaviness pressed on my chest from breathing in its odd odour. Such a floor would be easier to keep dirt away. What other new things waited for me?

  A thick futon lay bundled in one corner. Dolls sat on it, several dolls, all dressed in colourful fabrics, not straw. Their real eyes stared at me from smooth white faces, with real red mouths and real black hair and no expression. They were so beautiful, yet they did not seem happy.

  I looked at Tashiko and around the rest of the house. A large brazier and screen crowded along one wall for the two of us. Winter nights might be warmer here. In another corner a round object of carved wood spread its legs like upside-down flower petals, as if it were bowing. A bowl of water perched on top of it.

  ‘What is that?’ I pointed.

  ‘Table. For dishes.’

  Tashiko taught me other words for things. Some I accepted meekly, some I came to love, and some I learned to hate.

  Tashiko seized my hand and pulled me. ‘Come. I must bathe you.’

  We went beyond Lesser House and into the bathhouse, where she combed and fingered my hair. ‘Your great beauty, so thick and heavy. Does it take long to dry?’

  ‘At home . . .’ pressing my lips together so I did not to cry at this word ‘. . . it takes m-most of a w-warm day to dry it.’

  ‘Here, let me take these old things off,’ she said, and removed my smock and trousers.

  ‘They are not old! I want them! They are mine!’ I snatched them and held them to my chest. Today I had lost my family; I would not lose my festival clothes.

  ‘I shall keep them.’

  ‘Promise?’

  She tossed my trousers and smock into a corner. She pointed to a small wooden stool. ‘Sit.’ I ran and grabbed them back. ‘Not till you promise.’

  ‘I promise.’

  I stared at her and then handed my clothes to her with great ceremony.

  She rolled her eyes. ‘Now sit. I will scrub you.’

  ‘I did not play in the mud today.’ I hoped this would save me from whatever she would do. Then I remembered my fall at the gate. ‘Oh . . . I did.’ I gave myself to my fate, but not my best costume. ‘I still want to keep my clothes.’

  She nodded. ‘Proprietor Chiba wants you washed.’ With a brush and a bowl of prepared water she began. Long strokes from my head to my bottom, up and down my legs to my feet, over and over again. She worked until my skin reddened. I glared at her. She did not stop.

  Was she annoyed because I wanted to keep my smock and trousers? I had not done anything to her yet. What if I yanked her hair? But she was a stranger. I did nothing, except keep my eyes on my clothes, even though Tashiko had promised.

  After the pouring of clear water, Tashiko pointed to a large deep round bowl raised above the floor. ‘Now soak.’

  She took my festival clothes from the corner, folded them and put them on another stool. Smoothing them, she murmured, ‘Look at this.’

  ‘Fourth Daughter embroidered those flowers.’

  ‘An unusual colour.’

  ‘Mother dyed it red for First Daughter. They will be too small for you,’ I added, afraid she might take them.

  She nodded. ‘Put as much of yourself as you can under the water.’

  The warm water made me feel as if I was flying, in a cloud, in a dream. I closed my eyes and my ears filled with the sounds of horses galloping far away, then trampling near the bathhouse and, next, children’s giggles and laughter, a baby’s wail.

  My chest squeezed. The children’s giggles reminded me of my sisters’ laughter. I missed my mother’s quiet scoldings. ‘Who are the other children?’

  ‘We are not allowed to play with any children here.’ Tashiko’s eyes went blank. She studied her toes.

  Tears dripped down my cheeks and plopped into the bath.

  Tashiko did not rub my head like Second Daughter did when I cried. My skin still hurt.

  ‘Will you stop crying if I tell you a story?’

  I nodded, thankful she had noticed.

  Tashiko spoke magic words: ‘Long ago, the great God Izanagi first cleaned his body by soaking it. He had gone to the underworld . . .’

  ‘The nether world?’ I asked, sniffling.

  ‘Yes. Afterwards, Izanagi cleansed his body in the sea.’ Tashiko stood up and rubbed her back. ‘To what inago do I owe my suffering?’ she muttered to herself. Her eyes shone with tears.

  ‘What is inago?’ I asked, encouraged by the story.

  ‘The cause and the effect, karma. We pay with our suffering for bad things we did before.’

  ‘Before what?’

  ‘In other lives.’

  ‘Other lives?’

  ‘The Buddha speaks,’ Tashiko said. ‘Each has many lives. Goes to wondrous places. Has no one taught you this?’

  I nodded. I did not remember any of it, although I had heard of the Buddha. What would happen? What wondrous places would I see?

  The bathhouse door swung open behind me. Cool air floated over my warm skin. A shuffling, and the door swung shut. Tashiko motioned for me to come out of the bath. She scraped me with a thick cloth, hurting me again. She used a
corner to wipe her own eyes.

  I asked nothing.

  She went to the door and returned with two pieces of clothing. One she called kosode, or under-kimono. The other was a kimono of pale moss green with embroidered trees and a bridge on the side. Tashiko dressed me.

  The kosode and kimono hung off me as if they belonged to Mother. I recognised the kimono’s design. The needlework belonged to my mother and sisters. Grief smothered me like a heavy quilt. I shivered as if I was cold, yet my skin felt hot. I wanted to go home.

  Remembering my dignity, I wiped my tears, tracing the designs on the kimono where my dry fingers could reach, where my family had touched.

  This cloth.

  The willow trees.

  The bridge.

  All I had left of my family.

  II. Rules

  I put my head into my hands, muffling my screeching-crying sounds. Fourth Daughter hated me crying like that. What if I displeased Proprietor Chiba? My family would be disgraced. I did not know how, but I had already upset Tashiko. If not, why would she be unkind?

  On my knees in Lesser House, I wiped my face with the backs of my hands. I did not wish to spoil my new clothes. I heard my father’s voice; ‘Keep our honour. Do your duty by going with Proprietor Chiba.’

  I rubbed my neck where Mother had placed a kiss that morning and saw the face of Second Daughter as she sang me to sleep. Who would sing to me tonight?

  I heard someone slide the door and come inside. I put my face to the ground – no, the floor. I caught the smells of fish, rice, spices and sharp body odour. Would I be allowed to eat that food? No one spoke. Who was it? Honour included doing as you were told. Therefore I waited, burying my nose in my new clothes to avoid the floor’s uncomfortable scent. My head filled with my family’s faces when my fingers brushed the cloth on which they had worked. I breathed in sorrow.

  ‘Kozaishō.’

  My name . . . I heard my name.

  ‘Kozaishō, your parents have taught you your manners well. Stand in front of me.’ Proprietor Chiba sat high on the doubled futon, smiling so widely that his cheeks made his eyes almost disappear. ‘Today is the beginning of your new life. You will have many tasks, and you may also have pleasures. Do you understand?’

  I nodded, facing down.

  ‘When I ask a question, answer with your voice. Say “yes” or “no” or whatever the answer is, always ending with “Honourable Proprietor Chiba”.’

  ‘Yes, honourable Proprietor Chiba.’

  ‘In this place it is correct for you to look me in the face. At all other times and all other places, I do not permit it. But here, Kozaishō,’ a chubby hand floated up and out towards each wall, ‘when you and I are together, just the two of us, you will look upon my face. It is my wish—’

  ‘Yes, honourable Proprietor Chiba.’

  ‘I had not finished speaking, Kozaishō. You must always wait for me.’ He hit my head with his hand.

  I fell to the side. Half of my face smacked against the wooden floor. I was stunned, then furious. Yet I heard my father’s voice, ‘Do your duty,’ and did nothing. No jumping on him as I would my brothers.

  My stomach growled in spite of the pain and surprise. Would I eat tonight or would there be more punishment? I did not know. I breathed, but stayed still.

  ‘Always wait for me to finish speaking.’

  I pushed myself on to my knees and waited. He said no more. From my throbbing head, my throat scratched out, ‘Yes, honourable Proprietor Chiba.’

  ‘It is my wish when we are in this place for you to look upon my face. It is my wish . . . and it is my command.’

  I waited a bit. ‘Yes, honourable Proprietor Chiba.’

  ‘Tomorrow Tashiko will teach you your tasks – and see what I have brought you.’ He smiled and pointed to the table on which lay a tray with many small covered dishes.

  The food – those delicious aromas, so close, so far. All the bowls shining, most with covers, mostly black. Some had little flowers on them.

  ‘Are you hungry?’

  Despite my aching head and shoulders, my belly gurgled and I replied. All that food could feed my entire family.

  ‘Shall I feed you, or can you feed yourself?’

  ‘I can feed myself,’ I said. How old did he think I was? ‘Whatever the honourable proprietor wishes, honourable Proprietor Chiba,’ I added, to be sure I included the right words. I did not wish to be struck again.

  ‘Eat, and I will tell you about each dish as you do so.’

  I did my best to appreciate what he said. We had had no rice for years. I ate the whole bowl. I glanced at him every now and then. Would he hit me?

  When I stopped eating, he said, ‘Would you like a story before you sleep?’

  ‘Oh, yes, honourable Proprietor Chiba.’

  A story before sleep. Something familiar in this strange place.

  He called Tashiko into Lesser House. She sat down closer to Proprietor Chiba than I and finished my leftover food.

  She was older, yet I had eaten first. I did not understand. No wonder she had been unkind.

  Proprietor Chiba told this story:

  ‘Long ago Chōkichi, a charcoal-burner who lived near Sawaage, dreamed that if he travelled to Misokai Bridge at Takayama something marvellous would happen. He went immediately. Sitting on the bridge, a tōfu-maker came and asked what he was doing. The tōfu-maker laughed at Chōkichi’s dream, saying, “Anyone who takes dreams seriously is a fool.” The tōfu-maker continued, “I keep dreaming that gold is buried beneath a cryptomeria tree by the house of a charcoal-burner at Sawaage. It is only a dream. I need take no notice.” When Chōkichi heard that, he went home and dug around the tree. He became quite wealthy.

  ‘Girls, I am like that charcoal-burner.’ He took a pudgy finger and poked himself in the chest several times. ‘I have a dream. My dream is to entertain Taira courtiers here by the next festival. Two months away.’

  He turned to Tashiko, leaned close to her face and smiled. ‘Tomorrow show Kozaishō the shōen, especially the temple, but make sure you teach her the Butterfly Dance.’

  He stroked Tashiko’s face. She almost purred, like a cat. ‘Fortunately for you, the Gods of Direction are unkind. I must to stay at the house of my brother-in-law overnight. An extra day for you to practise. Use it well. You will both perform all of the dances for my guests, in full costume.’

  Tashiko waited two short breaths and acknowledged him.

  I learned to take those two breaths before I spoke to him. He not only hit me but Tashiko too.

  Tashiko moved closer to him. He smiled at her and rubbed her head. She glared at me, and her lips curved in a faint smile. Tashiko was to teach me what I needed to know, and we were already rivals.

  III. Risk

  No mother’s song awakened me next morning, no sisters’ punches. There was no crackle of a fire and no smell of barley cooking. Jaundiced light flowed through the window silk on to the futon. When I noticed the pale green kimono with those trees, I remembered where I was, with sadness and determination. No Tashiko either.

  When Tashiko arrived, she carried shiny bowls, and we ate our morning meal, rice, just as delicious as the previous night. On my bowl I saw the same white flowers, too. Tashiko’s had autumn grasses.

  ‘What makes the bowls shine?’

  ‘Lacquer.’

  ‘Lacquer?’ I had never heard of it.

  ‘Potters put lacquer on the bowls.’ She smirked.

  I thought of the plain, chipped bowls my family used. ‘Do we always eat from such beautiful bowls?’

  ‘Yes.’

  She gave me a jacket for the morning chill. Green, not blue like hers, with little embroidered rabbits huddled near trees. She turned the cuffs up three times. It was almost like wearing my older sisters’ clothes. Tashiko did not make a game of dressing me. Second Daughter and I practised dance steps to help me dress. Not Tashiko.

  ‘Come.’

  ‘Yes, Tashiko.’ I bowed. Perhaps i
f I showed her more respect, she would not be so angry with me. She would realise that I was not an enemy.

  ‘No bowing.’ Tashiko frowned and chewed her bottom lip. ‘Walk.’

  If I followed her and learned the Butterfly Dance, perhaps I could go home soon, or at least after the festival. Last night Proprietor Chiba had complimented my manners. I would do whatever I needed to do to bring honour to my family, as Father wished. Then I could go home. In my deepest, most secret place, I feared that might never happen.

  I pushed the thought away.

  As we walked, Tashiko spoke. ‘Proprietor Chiba made places here where the high-born, the courtiers, like to enjoy themselves. Call them fancies. They wear fancy clothes.’

  ‘What do they do?’ She was talking to me. She did not seem angry today.

  ‘Walk. Some ride. Sit and write. Watch the dances.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘See?’ She pointed to a nearby pond. ‘Those islands in that small lake. When they come, we are not allowed to go outside Lesser House, except to dance.’ She grabbed me. ‘Today there is no one. No one.’ She lifted her arms high and almost yelled, ‘I can be free!’ Her eyes filled, like dew on sunlit leaves. I glanced at her wide-eyed face and smiled to her. One day distant and disagreeable, today glad.

  ‘Let’s look. So many birds here this spring.’

  I wanted to know how long she had been here – had she been sold, like me? I kept quiet now, not wanting to anger her.

  We rambled to the lake. Skylarks, cranes, copper pheasants and ibis gathered. I loved the ibises’ red beaks and black-tipped wings. Their white feathers shimmered against the water making clouds float across it. Koi and other fish swarmed among the pink and yellow water-lilies. They all had families.

  A pair of cranes performed their courting dance. I did not stir until the male jumped high, spreading his black-tipped white wings wide to finish his courtship. Perhaps, after our work, I could play here, listen to the frogs and watch the butterflies and birds. If Tashiko forgave me or remained pleasant.

  I thought I had seen the whole shōen, but Tashiko placed her hands on my shoulders. ‘There is a Buddhist temple. Come.’ I saw happiness in her eyes for a second time.