‘We know, little one.’ Alio touched my shoulder.
‘Why did Proprietor Chiba send me away?’
All the samurai were silent, gazing at me with strange expressions.
‘Was I wrong? I was loyal to Proprietor Chiba. Why am I being punished?’
Eyes were lowered.
How bad had I been? ‘Will my parents lose the land I gave them?’
‘I do not know. I do not think so.’ Akio squatted down to my height. ‘Remember, Daigoro no Goro is a powerful priest and now he is your enemy. He is not another child you have kicked.’ He sighed, shaking his topknot: a few hairs caught in his eyebrows. ‘However, this may be your karma.’
‘The priest is stronger than Proprietor Chiba?’
‘Tashiko taught you the sutras, Kozaishō. Life is dukkha, suffering caused by wanting. Act according to the Eight-fold Path and your longing and distress will be removed.
‘There is a huge difference between the king, honourable Hiroshi and you. You are not a prince. You are not even the servant of a prince. Proprietor Chiba no Tashiyori owned you and has sold you to – ah – someone else.’
‘Yes, Akio.’ My lips trembled, yet I did not allow tears.
‘I wish it were not so, my little one. Nothing must keep you from the Noble Eight-fold Path. The Right View, Thinking, Mindfulness, Speech, Action, Diligence and Concentration will lead you to your Right Livelihood.’
I sat beside the remains of the small fire. It crackled when a log slipped. A plume of sparks drifted into the sky. I might have been a spark from that fire. I had no idea to whom Proprietor Chiba had sold me. Would I be able to keep my family’s honour in the new place? The paulownia trees whispered and moaned. Maybe their height allowed them to see my new home. I wished they could speak.
Not one of the samurai would tell me anything. Except Akio. All he repeated was we had to do as our masters bade. Who would be my new master? The paulownia trees exhaled like someone humming in a home I had known years ago. Perhaps the samurai did know and did not want to tell me either. At least Proprietor Chiba could not beat me now. There was no Emi for me to struggle to teach. Who would be a friend? These samurai watched out for me, helped me, taught me. Would I see Tashiko again? Or would I be alone?
Akio stroked the top of my head that night until I slept and dreamed of the Goddess of Mercy, who appeared in a circle of flaming light. She emptied a gift-filled furoshiki softly on to my futon: a bag with tsuru, bowstrings; a quiver filled with arrows; a knife; a whetstone; a straw hat; a rice pouch; a cup for water; salt; leggings and sandals. With each one, the Goddess said, ‘Use this gift well, Kozaishō. You will become an extraordinary samurai.’ She repeated this ten times, once for each of her ten gifts.
Extraordinary. Samurai. Me.
V. Madam Hitomi
Before we set off one morning, Akio announced, ‘Today the Gods are against our direction. We need to go south.’ He pointed to the way we had come.
‘These Gods are extremely powerful,’ a samurai said. ‘Not so long ago there was a noble. He did not pay attention and travelled in a Forbidden Direction. By the time he realised his blunder, it was too late. Torrential rains, hail and floods arrived. Crops suffered. Many people died of starvation.’
‘That is why,’ a second looked at me sternly, ‘we must pay attention . . . every day.’
‘How are we to go quickly?’
Some of the samurai chuckled.
Akio quieted them with a motion of his hand, and I pressed my lips together to control my annoyance. ‘It is better to go safely and slowly. There are many disturbances, as you know. Protection is of great concern.’
‘There are no Minamoto here.’ I clenched my hands, thinking of the enemies of the Taira. ‘What other disturbances?’ I blurted out, still upset by their mocking.
The second samurai turned to the others and murmured, ‘She should know.’ He returned his eyes to me, his fingers tapping his sword sheath. ‘There are sōhei, monks from monasteries’ armies, who roam near the capital, Heian-kyō . . . and where we are going. They cause . . . difficulties.’
‘Disturbances,’ the first samurai said.
‘Daigoro no Goro may be one of these sōhei,’ Akio whispered. ‘Many years ago our emperor, Go-Shirakawa, said there were three things he could not control: dice when he gambled, the rapids of the Kamo river and the mountain sōhei.’
‘They are brazen,’ the second samurai said. ‘They carry a shrine into Heiankyō to threaten the emperor. Years ago, on the Gion Festival, Chancellor Kiyomori, our clan chieftain, sent an arrow into the shrine that struck its gong, proclaiming the power of our clan and its arrows over the monks.’ He lifted his bow into the air with one hand.
‘Honourable one, what is the Gion Festival?’ I asked.
‘It is a summer festival in the capital to please the Gods and prevent the plague. During the day people parade on decorated platforms throughout the Gion shrines and temples. It is a large complex. Artists perform dances, songs and music. A famous festival,’ the second samurai said.
‘Nevertheless, Kozaishō do not underestimate any sōhei.’ Akio thumped my shoulder to help me remember.
No wonder Akio had been amazed that I had bested Goro. A sōhei. I revisited that last day at the shōen often in my mind.
Our country’s capital city Heian-kyō was larger, with more people, than the city of Uji.
The Forbidden Directions made us change our path only a few more times.
On the last day of our journey, Akio rode up next to my horse, and said, ‘We are now going to travel through the city of Uji. Go to the ox cart and cover yourself with a cloth so no one can see you. We can guard you there more easily from brigands who roam the streets. Remember the sōhei? They might steal you. There are disputes and spies. You must leave us, but we do not wish you to fall into evil hands before our duty is finished.’
I climbed under the bundles in the ox cart, remembering not to touch the blue furoshiki. Its tied corners flapped with each rattle and bounce, tempting me. How much evil was out there? Daigoro no Goro felt evil to me. What did I have that everyone wanted?
My chest hurt when I breathed. Through slits in the cart’s woven sides I saw small groups of priests in hooded cowls, like Goro on the black horse, farmers with summer vegetables, barley and rice, people yelling their wares, many carts, animals, feral dogs and cats, birds and fish, dirt and mud, crowded huts, vibrant stalls – colours.
Everywhere there were delicious and dreadful smells, spices, incense, food cooking, oil burning, sweat and dung. Noises pounded my ears as powerfully as an earthquake. Whenever someone rode by, the dust burned my eyes and I took comfort from the cloth.
We rode through Uji without stopping. Gradually things grew quieter. I saw fewer people and more trees. I heard crickets and a few woodpeckers and smelt pine.
Several buildings clustered together on their own road near a grove of old pine trees. Over the short rock wall, with roses of Sharon growing near it I saw the roofs of many huts and a stable. Freshly harvested fields lay beyond the slight slopes. The cart stopped before a little gate in the wall.
A samurai stepped behind the ox cart and called to me, ‘We are here. This is the Village of Outcasts. Madam Hitomi will be your new owner.’
Before I climbed out of the cart, I heard a punch and Akio’s voice snarled, ‘How could you tell her in that way?’
Outcasts? A band clutched my chest. Oh, Goddess of Mercy, protect me! My family honour still depended on me, no matter who owned me. What kind of honour would I find here? If any?
‘Come out, little one, but stand behind the cart so no one can see you yet.’ I heard Akio’s voice and obeyed.
Fallen willow leaves littered the path. The pine and willow trees seemed to sigh with sadness in the autumn wind.
‘I . . . we want to say farewell to you before you go on to your new abode.’ He rapped my head lightly as he spoke. He twisted and opened the lumpy blue furoshiki.
> ‘We have some gifts for you, little samurai,’ he said. His eyes did not overflow.
The second pulled out my bow and my bokken, familiar with practice. As he unwrapped each package, he laid it next to the now untied and opened furoshiki.
They stood around me, as I opened each of the other gifts. The first was a bag embroidered with cranes flying over willow trees; it contained two strings for my child bow. As I touched them, I heard Akio’s voice in my mind: ‘Lower the point to sight. Smooth release between thumb and index finger. Keep your arm slightly bent. Breathe.’
Next a new quiver, filled with arrows, several with hawk feathers. Across this quiver, little rabbits and trees danced. Akio had remembered my favourites. He whispered to me that he had been saving it for when I won my next archery prize.
Other gifts included a knife, a whetstone, a straw hat – my size – for practice in the sun, a pouch for rice, a water cup, a container with salt for Purification, leggings for warmth and an extra pair of straw sandals. The gifts were the ones the Goddess of Mercy had shown me in my vivid dream before I left the shōen. I pretended to be surprised – I truly was – although I had believed in my dreams since Tashiko had told me her story.
‘Proprietor Chiba and Master Isamu arranged them for you,’ Akio said, but I knew the true provider of most of these magic gifts: Akio.
‘You do me too much honour,’ I said formally, and bowed, wiping my tears as fast as I could. Akio touched my head. I looked into his eyes. ‘My gratitude has no bounds.’ The words choked me with the pain of our parting and the thought that I would never see him again.
Akio put his arms around me while I cried. ‘I will pray every day to the Goddess of Mercy that she will take care of you. We will all pray for you.
‘Remember,’ he added, ‘commit no evil, do all that is good, and keep your thoughts pure. This is the teaching of the Buddha.’
Friendship, the great gift
Like a long growing summer
Like the cuckoo’s song
Watered by distance’s weeping
Stands for ever, tallest Pine
At the gate a large woman dressed in harsh-coloured robes ploughed towards us like an ox. She pretended to smile, revealing blackened teeth. Ohaguro was a vile paste made from vinegar, gall-nut and powdered iron to darken the teeth. Everyone bowed. Her white scalp showed through her thin hair in the wind. Even through the heavy rice-powder paste she wore, I could see her wrinkles. They were like gullies eroded on a hill after a typhoon.
Beside me Akio whispered, ‘Keep us in your thoughts, little one. Always – you will remain in ours. Soon, probably next month, you will receive a wonderful surprise.’
‘Thank you,’ I whispered, and brushed against his armour while bowing.
Unsure of what I should do, I resolved to do whatever was asked. If it was honourable. Why was this place called the Village of Outcasts? Could it be that everyone who lived here was unclean? Perhaps they butchered animals. Some people did eat meat. I wanted nothing to do with that. Oh, Kannon-sama, Goddess of Mercy, please do not let me be a part of killing anything or touching anything that has been killed!
‘I bid welcome to the samurai of Proprietor Chiba no Tashiyori.’ The woman’s black teeth gaped in her whitened face. ‘I am Madam Hitomi. May I offer you refreshments or . . . entertainment?’
‘Thank you for your generous hospitality,’ Akio said. ‘Most of the horses are for sale. You are welcome to buy as many as you need. Proprietor Chiba no Tashiyori ordered us to sell what you do not take in Heian-kyō. We must return immediately. We ask only to transact our business and to water and feed our animals before we leave.’
‘As you require.’ She gestured to a young man nearby. ‘I will take the girl. Hiroshi will show you to the horse master.’ Her hand, with the longest fingernails I had ever seen, beckoned me closer.
Hiroshi! Like the story, ‘Honourable Hiroshi’. I turned to Akio and our eyes met before Hiroshi came and showed them to the sheds.
Madam Hitomi seized my hand. I grabbed my furoshiki and did not dare look back. I bit my tongue and tried not to cry. She waddled in front of me all the way to my new home, beyond the gate, beyond the first building, which was almost as large as Big House. We hurried along a beautiful garden path to a row of small huts and, further, to another set of huts. A wide watadono encircled each one. A few women rested under the watadonos’ roofs, fanning themselves with large leaves.
We stopped at a hut. Madam Hitomi opened the shōji and said, ‘This is yours.’ In a back corner a futon hugged itself. A rough wooden clothes-tree postured against the wall, where she directed me to hang my beloved kimonos. A water jug sat on the floor, as empty as my spirit.
Everything was going to be different. Would I find a way to train with the samurai? I had seen a few when I came in. If not, I had my bow, my bokken and my warrior tools and I would practise by myself. I would.
She ordered me to follow her to Main House, which seemed a walk of several chō. Inside, she slid open another shōji to a room of such luxury that my hands flew to my mouth. A heavily carved table squatted on the mat-covered floor. Lamps and more lamps of many shapes stood like blind samurai – with only one lamp lit, the whole room was transformed into a field under murky clouds. In the darkness I heard cats call and hiss.
Madam Hitomi sat on a wide cushion with high pillows behind it. Her voice sounded like a draughty hut in winter winds as she said, ‘Let me look at you. This must be hard for you, but I know you will be obedient and do honour to me, your family and Proprietor Chiba no Tashiyori.’ I thought of Akio and honourable Hiroshi. I remembered to breathe, and I bowed.
‘Stand.’
I did.
Another woman, much smaller and younger, came in.
‘Ah,’ Madam Hitomi said. ‘Here is Rin. She is the chojā of my Women-for-Play. She likes to meet all the new girls.’
Rin approached and unwound my kimono’s ties. With one finger, she lifted my kimono off my shoulder. I stared at the green cloth and tie heaped on the floor. Next she pulled off my kosode.
Madam Hitomi opened my mouth, looked at my ears and eyes, then turned my head, arms and legs one way and another. She posed and asked if I could imitate her. I could. She made other postures, which I was to follow. She snorted after each one.
As I held each position, she ran her hands over my body as if she was petting one of the numerous cats that stalked the room. She scraped her knobbly fingers and long nails over my back, chest and legs.
‘Tell her to pretend to be a frog,’ Rin ordered.
When I squatted on the floor, Rin put her fingers inside me, in places for which I still had no name. She sniffed me at odd places, even between my legs. She yapped like a little dog, then smiled broadly.
‘Yes,’ Madam Hitomi said, sitting back on her pillows. ‘Good, I see Chiba has kept his word and protected you.’
‘From what?’
Rin goggled at me, then slapped my face. ‘You will not speak of such things again.’
I apologised and bowed.
‘From Daigoro no Goro,’ Madam Hitomi whispered.
‘Proprietor Chiba has moulded you well. You will do well for me here. Now dress yourself. Put away your grief. We are your new family.’
‘I agree. Welcome to our family,’ Rin said.
Her voice changed to a monotone and her eyes dulled. ‘Here you will become a beautiful flower worthy of great admiration. You are entering a profession to which I have belonged all my life. Do me and our profession honour.’
Honour. I again thought of honourable Hiroshi. My family. How brave to do as I should! Madam Hitomi took her fan and tapped me sharply on top of my head. ‘Tashiko will be your companion. Now go to your hut.’
Tashiko! After she had pointed, I went to my hut, singing Tashiko’s name in my mind. My companion. What did she mean by that? Tashiko. So Chiba had sent me to the same place. Tashiko and I would be together – with no Chiba. We could play Go. Perhaps dan
ce together without beatings. Did they beat us here? I wondered if this was the surprise Akio had promised. If it really was Tashiko, it would be a magnificent surprise.
So lost in thought, I was not aware of my surroundings until I reached my little room.
BOOK 5
I. Surprises
Madam Hitomi hauled me to a long, plain building, which, like Lesser House, stood with a roofed watadono around it, raised two steps from the ground. As she turned a corner, the scents of horses, heavy incense and a nauseating smell I would soon learn was the tannery attacked me. No gardens, no ponds, no walking paths were visible.
Certainly my life was going to be different. Would I find a way to train with the samurai?
‘There.’ Madam Hitomi pointed with a long finger, which looked as if it had been dipped in blood, to a small hut, third from the right. She raised her eyebrows, or the place where her eyebrows had been. She had shaved them off. She charged away without a farewell. So much for the manners Chiba had taught.
No shōji closed my new home, only a thin cloth curtain, flapping a heartbroken ‘hello’ with the hot breeze. I grabbed the knots of my furoshiki with both hands, comforted that its blue silk had touched Akio’s hands, and pulled it closer to my chest, feeling each bulky gift inside. I was to live . . . here. So many houses. All tiny. I was not sure Akio’s gifts would fit inside.
Outdoor shoes lined up along the bottom step to each watadono, whose wide roof showed many patches. I put my outdoor shoes with the others, remembering when I had received my older sister’s shoes, which had been much too big. Loneliness speared my chest.
The curtain to my room slipped between my fingers. I recognised Tashiko. She sat on a futon, her long hair draped past her knees, but her face was white.
What had happened to it? Had someone thrust her head into a barrel of rice flour? I could not believe she would allow them to change her like that.
‘I can hardly recognise you, Tashiko. Are you the same person?’ She had taught me about the sutras, yet she had allowed others to manipulate her into making herself different.
The Pillow Book of the Flower Samurai Page 9