The Pillow Book of the Flower Samurai

by Barbara Lazar

  After midday on the second day I heard steps behind me at the lake. The flowering bush clover’s fragrance was so strong that it reminded me of Tashiko’s scent. I almost thought it was she.

  I turned, and found Goro, brushing at his garments. He was still dressed in the monastery robes and still as spare as ever. His black eyes contrasted with his pale skin and the colours of the clouded sky.

  ‘Ah, I have found you.’

  I bowed, my stomach clamped.

  ‘How long has it been? Two years? Three?’

  ‘Honourable Daigoro no Goro, it has been less than one month since we had the honour of your visit.’ He stared at me on each of his visits, rubbing his fingertips, playing with that thin moustache, whether I was dancing or not. If he did not come for a hundred years, it would be another thousand before I wanted to see him.

  ‘Little flower, I meant how long have you been here with Proprietor Chiba?’

  He waved his hand, as Proprietor Chiba always did. I shuddered, as though a sharp winter wind had struck my face.

  ‘I have had the privilege of being with Proprietor Chiba for more than three years.’

  ‘Come closer, little flower. Let me see how you have bloomed.’

  He chuckled at his wit. I moved only one step nearer.

  ‘Ah, you have grown more beautiful.’ He opened his arms wide, palms up. ‘Since the day I first saw you, I have protected you. I have kept Chiba from you. He has not damaged you, has he?’ Goro leaned forward, forcing his sour breath on me.

  This was an opportunity, and I retreated a step. What was he talking about? I shook my head. ‘Thank you, honourable Daigoro no Goro.’ Another step back. ‘Thank you for your kindness in asking.’ One more step.

  ‘Oh, no, little flower.’ His fingers caught my chin. He held it and stroked my cheek with his other hand. His touch caused my skin to itch, as if ants were crawling over me. He brought his hand down my neck to my shoulder, where it stayed. ‘It is my pleasure to see you, always.’

  Agitation made it difficult for me to remain calm, but I did as I had learned. I tried to step back. ‘Please excuse me. I have tasks to do.’

  ‘Oh? What tasks? Dancing? With fans?’ He pinched my shoulder, then loosened his grip and petted it, as if I were a cat.

  I did not think it was the dances he wanted to see. My tongue said the first thing that came to it: ‘I am required to clean Lesser House. It was Tashiko’s task.’

  The priest smirked and pulled aside, allowing me to pass. ‘I shall accompany you.’

  He had never praised me while Chiba was watching. I was alarmed. Looking at Lesser House, I kept my pace slow, praying to the Goddess of Mercy, hoping to see the musician or one of the samurai, especially Akio.

  I parted the shōji of Lesser House. ‘Thank you for accompanying me. How kind of you.’

  With one hand he opened the rest of the shōji, and with the other he shoved me inside. I remained on my feet, frightened by the push.

  He stood, his hands on his hips, feet apart. ‘I am the priest for this shōen. Help me with one of my tasks.’

  What could it be? How had I irritated him? From his tone, I seemed to be in serious trouble.

  He rubbed his fingertips together and stroked his moustache faster. His eyes glinted as he licked his lips. ‘The one with which Tashiko helped me, when the proprietor withdrew from the shōen. I want you to dance for me. With fans. With two fans.’ He stared with that hungry look.

  ‘Tashiko never told me she did tasks for you. Or dance.’ His look made my tongue heavy in my mouth. I strode back from him to the futon. Akio spoke of the Eightfold Noble Path, but this did not feel like a Right Action. I wondered, though, if I was supposed to obey Daigoro no Goro.

  ‘This task is more of a duty.’ He pulled a whip from his belt. ‘A duty, a privilege, that is now yours.’

  ‘Honourable Daigoro no Goro, I must first finish my task here.’ I worked to slow my breathing. Being beaten with that whip would be worse than the switch. Much.

  I wished the shoji screens were all around so he could be seen. The priest closed the one screen and hung his kimono on the hanging tree where I placed my precious clothes. I was trapped. Could I tear open the silk window? No. I had no sword. Behind the priest’s head was the calligraphy of the word ‘love’ and that was what he said to me but I didn’t believe him. We were alone and no one could see us. Too far away for a scream to carry. A place of wealth and luxury would see my death – or worse, I thought, catching his wintry stare. No sword? But my bokken was behind the futon.

  He laughed at me. I hated his laugh and I hated him. I paced backwards into the futon. Fixing my eyes on his, I reached behind me. My fingertips touched my bokken.

  ‘Are your fans behind the futon?’ He thrust himself towards me, fingers splayed. ‘I have waited for this.’

  ‘For what, honourable one?’

  ‘For my diversion. With two fans. Dance for me. If you blunder, you will find that the proprietor is an amateur at . . . discipline, compared to me.’ He grinned.

  What was this priest saying? With that whip he could flay my back open.

  ‘Have I offended you, honourable one?’

  If he talked, perhaps someone would come. I had to run. I held both hands behind my back, one hand holding my bokken.

  ‘When Proprietor Chiba is away, he allows me to pleasure myself with you dancing girls.’

  ‘Pleasure?’

  He cackled. ‘Yes. Dance with the fans.’

  Leaning against the table, he whistled a song from a dance, stroking the whip’s handle with his long fingers as if he were stroking a baby’s back.

  He stood erect. ‘I will wait no longer.’

  ‘Honourable Daigoro no Goro, please allow me to retrieve my fans.’ I reached behind the futon, left my bokken where I could easily grasp it and unwrapped the fans, keeping my eyes on him.

  Taking only one fan, I began to dance and sing with great care.

  He kept whistling. I glanced at him and saw him studying my feet.

  I missed a step.

  He straightened. His fingers twitched on the handle of the whip. ‘I am a generous man. I will forgive you that one mistake.’

  I bowed and thanked him, growing angry at his arrogance and wondering how to escape.

  ‘I want the Butterfly Dance. Now. Use both fans.’ He pounded the whip slowly on his thigh.

  That sound trickled, like a melting icicle, over my skin.

  I stepped backwards. Instead of reaching for another fan, I grasped the handle of my bokken and pulled it out.

  ‘Ah. The proprietor mentioned you played with the samurai. Put that down and bring out the second fan. Use both. Start the dance.’ He leaned back and whistled again.

  I did not retrieve the other fan. I did not put down my bokken.

  He stopped whistling. ‘What is this? Disobey and the penalties will be . . . harsh.’ His eyes glowed cruelly as he tapped the whip on the palm of his other hand.

  Loyalty was the first quality of the Way. ‘I belong to Proprietor Chiba, not to you.’ I assumed a defensive stance, bokken ready.

  ‘He is not here. I, the priest,’ he said, spreading his shallow chest, ‘the priest of this shōen, order you to submit to me.’ He lifted the whip and came for me.

  What should I do? Perhaps he was right. Perhaps I should yield. What would be honourable? Had I already dishonoured my family?

  No! I could not let this man touch me. Danger oozed from him, like the stench of rotten incense. ‘Keep your distance. I obey Proprietor Chiba, not you.’

  ‘Your duty is to me.’ He stepped back and lifted the whip to strike.

  My one hand heaved and struck. A mild bump.

  He rotated with my blow. His eyes spouted fire.

  He grabbed my shoulder with his empty hand, and called me a name.

  He raised his weapon hand.

  I slipped beneath his arm and raced away.

  He was still clutching my shoulder, his
fingernails caught in my kimono.

  I raced out of Lesser House, the priest clutching me.

  ‘You will dance for me. I will have you,’ he howled.

  I ran along the watadono. I dared not go to Big House for help and there was no other safe place nearby.

  ‘You belong to me now.’ His face was a demon mask as he tracked me.

  He stopped, panting hard, the whip held ready. ‘Come closer. I will show you your duty.’

  My heart was pounding loudly enough for the whole shōen to hear. ‘I give you fair warning.’ That was what samurai said to an enemy before engaging. I moved backwards, offensive stance.

  He lunged with the whip. A savage sound.

  I sidestepped, moved closer.

  Our eyes held for an instant.

  I rushed and struck his face.

  Crack.

  We heard the bone break.

  His eyes widened. He shrieked. His hands went up to his face. The whip clattered to the floor.

  His skin slipped to the colour of white rice, except where blood spurted out, defiling his precious clothes.

  ‘What is this?’ I heard Akio’s voice from a side of Lesser House.

  I did not speak, did not move, bokken in hand, defensive stance.

  ‘She—’ Goro pointed a skeletal finger. ‘She attacked me!’

  Akio positioned himself between us. He faced the priest. ‘Why are you fighting?’

  ‘Proprietor Chiba allows me the girls when he is not here,’ the priest snarled, holding his face. ‘Just look at this. I am disfigured. I will never be the same.’

  Akio eyed the whip on the floor beside the priest. ‘I know nothing of any arrangement. I do know that Proprietor Chiba would not permit you to hurt this child.’ He put his hands by his sides, ready. His feet were placed in an attack position, his eyes almost laughing.

  ‘I heard a scream.’ Master Isamu sprang up to Lesser House. His eyes scanned the area, stopped at the scars on my bare back and made a passing nod to the priest. ‘Honourable Daigoro no Goro, is there a problem?’ His eye twitched.

  ‘She attacked me! She will not do her duty,’ the priest spluttered, one hand clutching his face, blood running through his fingers and down his arm.

  Master Isamu and Akio caught each other’s eye.

  ‘Regrettably, Honourable Daigoro no Goro, Proprietor Chiba will not return today. I am most concerned for your discomfort. Allow me to take you for treatment.’ Master Isamu stepped up to the watadono and led the priest down. ‘I insist. We will address Kozaishō when Proprietor Chiba returns tomorrow. Akio,’ he said, over his shoulder, ‘escort her inside and see that she is properly dressed.’

  Akio placed his hand on my neck, propelled me into Lesser House and closed the shōji. He knelt down and looked me in the face. ‘You are unharmed?’ His dragonfly eyebrows met in the centre of his forehead.

  ‘Yes.’

  He stood up and surveyed me.

  ‘I was grateful to Daigoro no Goro. He arranged for me to give my family extra land. Yet his presence has always distressed me.’

  Akio snorted. ‘That is not surprising. Most people have more than one feeling about another person. Often those feelings conflict.’

  I found another kimono and put it on.

  ‘Our practice tomorrow will be interesting. I wish you to share today’s experience with the others, to tell them of how you bested a full-grown man – and a priest.’

  I hugged him, but he pushed me away. I felt like crying.

  ‘Forget not, little one, little samurai, that you protected yourself today. But you also made an enemy. Think of that.’

  After I had dressed, Akio opened the shōji, picked up the priest’s whip and held it as if it were a dead snake.

  I did not know what the priest told Proprietor Chiba, but the next day he sent me away.

  IV. Honourable Hiroshi

  My favourite green kimono and my favourite doll, with trees embroidered on her robe, and a new kimono, made of rich blue brocade with embroidered poppies were in my furoshiki. I did not think that Emi could have been so thoughtful. Perhaps the proprietor had packed them for me.

  Akio’s topknot shook with the billowing summer clouds. I thanked the Goddess of Mercy that he accompanied me on the ox-cart journey. While other samurai and many horses travelled, I trusted Akio. We rode for several days and stopped often at shrines along Takaido Road, the main route to the south-west. At each I washed my hands, rinsed my mouth and prayed to the God of the shrine.

  Akio said we were going towards the capital of Heian-kyō and through the city of Uji, which was south of it. A city! I had never seen a city before! Towns were smaller than cities, yet the towns where we stopped had so many people. There were buildings big enough with rooms for all of us to sleep in. The sheds had enough room for the horses we rode and for all the others we brought. There were servants to care for the horses’ needs and ours.

  After we had left the first town and were halfway to the second, it rained. The rain came hard, but our capes kept us dry.

  ‘These capes are better than the hemp ones my family used,’ I said to another samurai.

  He showed me the inside of his. ‘See? It is made from string. Mulberry-bark paper is rolled into the string, then waterproofed with persimmon juice.’

  The mulberry reminded me. I prayed to the Gods that I would see my family again. I searched the countryside, looking for the hill with the mulberry trees on its western side. I hoped to recognise the trees. The unfamiliar land, the large hills and rivers did not resemble my father’s fields. The samurai might have let me go, if I had found my home.

  I missed my family, Tashiko, even little Emi. I also missed Proprietor Chiba, although I did not miss the thrashings.

  The food was different from what I had been accustomed to at Lesser House. The food bag, a big wicker basket with a cloth pouch inside, was in the ox cart. Usually we purchased grains and other foods we could not hunt or catch, but when the food bag emptied, we filled it in the towns. Sometimes the samurai allowed me to join the hunt, although they always caught our dinner. In the evening, after a long day following the ox cart and herding the horses, the samurai told stories. I had those Chiba had told me to tell them in return. These were what Akio called ‘story duels’.

  Akio and I rode together one hot day, lagging behind the others. I put my question to him anxiously, but tried to sound carefree. ‘Have you ever seen a small hill with mulberry trees on its western side?’

  ‘Yes, when you first came to the shōen. Finally, Kozaishō, it is my turn to ask why.’ His eyebrows fluttered like tiger moths on his forehead.

  ‘Because – because that is a hill near my family.’ I gave him my most endearing look and raised my eyes.

  ‘Kozaishō,’ he turned to me in the saddle, ‘even if I saw such a thing, I must do as my master bids. I am required to take you . . . where I am ordered to take you.’ He motioned to me to ride on.

  I did not spy that hill again but kept searching. With Akio ahead of me, and with the rain, he could not see my tears. I thought of my family, that last day with the buckets and the black horse. Would Fourth Daughter still carry buckets after all this time? I hoped she would marry rather than go to the shōen. Was Fourth Daughter married? I hoped her husband would be kind. Even to her.

  ‘We are going near the city of Uji, south-west of the capital, Heian-kyō,’ he began the next morning.

  ‘The city? I have never seen a city.’

  ‘No, to a village near it.’

  ‘Is a village like Chiba’s shōen?’

  ‘No, it is a group of buildings, all different kinds. Together.’

  ‘Please tell me where I am being sent,’ I pleaded, again.

  ‘We must all serve as our master directs.’ Sadness darkened Akio’s eyes, like storm clouds’ shadows across a field. I knew not to ask. At least for a while.

  That night Akio related the story of Honourable Hiroshi:

  Long ago, a dying
king charged his servant, Honourable Hiroshi, with the responsibility of his only son. The Prince was forbidden to see the Princess of the Golden Mansion’s portrait. Despite Hiroshi’s best efforts, the Prince saw it anyway, fell in love and begged Hiroshi to help him obtain her for his bride. Regrettably the king died. Because of Hiroshi’s love for the new king, he helped him sail to the Princess’s land, her court, and then to win her love.

  Returning, Hiroshi saw three ravens fly over the ship, an evil omen.

  First Raven said, ‘A wedding gift of an ebony stallion will carry off the king.’

  Second Raven said, ‘Wedding kimonos will burn the couple’s flesh.’

  And Third Raven cursed, ‘After the wedding the new queen will faint and die – unless someone nicks her breast with a knife and sucks three drops of blood.’

  The ravens spotted Hiroshi listening and added, ‘Anyone voicing these threats will immediately turn to stone.’

  Hiroshi rode out and killed the horse. Next he threw the wedding kimonos into a cooking fire. Not knowing about the curses, the king defended his servant. But when Hiroshi saved the queen’s life, he earned the king’s rage. Hiroshi had barely explained when he turned to stone. With regret, the King ordered the stone Hiroshi to be placed in his bedroom.

  As the pregnant queen neared the time of her confinement, the king wished aloud that his beloved Hiroshi could be alive. To his amazement, the statue spoke and told him how to retore Hiroshi’s life. The royal placenta must be smeared on the statue rather than being buried. Honourable Hiroshi returned to life, and all lived happily.

  Hearing this story, I found the courage to ask Akio about my exile from Proprietor Chiba’s shōen.

  ‘It is always necessary to obey?’ I asked.

  ‘Always, little one.’

  ‘Even when there is a wrong?’

  ‘Eh?’

  ‘The Prince, he did not obey. He saw the picture of the Princess. He was not punished. Not sent away.’

  ‘What has this to do with you?’

  ‘I did nothing wrong. I tried hard to obey, even even . . . with painful things, but Daigoro no Goro was not my master.’ I worked hard to hold back my tears. The thought of Goro made me shrivel inside.