Misuki pulled at me. ‘Come. We must hurry.’
‘Do not address me with such familiarity.’
‘It is I, Misuki. I do not understand what I have done to displease you. I defended you, vouched for you and supported you. Why are you so angry?’
‘Why were you and Sadakokai spying on me in my garden?’
‘Oh. You are angry again. Why? Michimori loves you. He married you, gave you rank, made you one of the “fancies”, as someone we loved used to say.’
Tashiko’s words returned me to myself as Fifth-Daughter once more. I resolved to force myself to ignore my body’s reactions when I was near Tokikazu. I did have sympathy for Michimori, my husband, my protector, my family, and I was, as he said to me, his life. ‘You are correct, my dear friend.’ I hugged her. ‘Let us not quarrel. I ask only for your assistance in maintaining a distance between me and . . .’ I could not say his name.
‘Kozaishō, I will even train more with you, if that is what is required.’
We embraced again as I wondered if our voices had carried into ears that would repay us with evil.
That day Tokikazu waited to escort me in his blue brocade noshi, a braided sash around his slender waist, and matching hakama. His swords’ scabbards enthralled my eyes, but their handles, heavy purple silk braided over dyed-red stingray skin with multiple gold dragon ornaments, made me gasp. In his formal dress shoes with the gold edging, my pulse increased. We greeted each other with our eyes. I forced mine blank, I thought of Fourth Son, my brother, the youngest one, closest to my age. He had always defended me when my older brothers teased me about my dreams. He had been my favourite. I imagined him toiling happily in my birth family’s new field, the one purchased with my life. Dare I ask Michimori if I might visit them?
I reconsidered.
My birth family would not know me, with my teeth blackened, face white with rice flour and eyebrows plucked, wearing ten robes or my armour. I was now kuge, and they were peasants, scarcely above the eta in the Village of Outcasts. Would I recognise them? I could no longer recall their faces, just brief flashes, like lightning against a spring storm’s darkened sky, that pierced my chest like a spear.
Akio always lingered close to me, but remained silent. However, Tokikazu and I whispered on the way to Grand Room, but never about finding Goro and other enemies of Taira except in their code names. I listened to Tokikazu talk about his wives and consorts. I admired him, especially for the phenomenon he had wrought with my calligraphy. I owed him for my new brush, which had brought my acceptance among the kuge and particularly my husband’s delight. Perhaps we could be friends, like Fourth Son and I had been. My life, and my head, were contingent upon it.
III. Shoes
Later that day in Grand Room, I was fatigued by the Hour of the Cock, the sun almost gone. An old man had spoken for a long time, saying many words with little information. From a small province, he complained of pirates. Many vessels sailed along an important river in his province, and this route to the capital was necessary for tributes to important shrines. The old man wanted our protection. I heard his threat to block the river and its precious cargoes if no troops came. He was a snake who still had its fangs.
I examined what he was doing. One of his hands was fingering the edge of his robe. The other clenched in a fist when he told lies. He would make good his warning if he was denied action, and I wrote this down. He droned on. I placed my brush next to my writing box, since he said nothing else of value. To keep my attention fresh while listening to his monotone, I focused on the rest of Grand Room.
I studied the samurai. I recognised all but two. Queasiness roiled in my stomach. I was familiar with Michimori’s guards, but not these men. They stood straight across from Michimori, furthest away yet were nearest the doors. Oddly, they were in positions where no other samurai could look directly at them. I scrutinised them, cautious to make no noise or any sudden movement to upset the screens.
Their pose was as all the other samurai. Their faces displayed little expression. I scanned each of them meticulously for any clue to their identities. The same sashes tied the same way as the others, the same lacing patterns in their armour. The shoes were the same colour, but the trim, yes, the gold trim did not go around one side.
I rapidly checked other samurai in Grand Room. The others’ gold trim went right around their shoes. Surely the two unknown samurai brought harm – could they be assassins?
Moving like a cat in front of an unaware mouse, I crept up from my cushions. I wrapped my kimonos around my waist so that I made not the tiniest swish behind the man’s solo song. I grasped my shoes and hems, each step on my toes. I avoided the squeaky planks. Holding my breath, I opened the hidden door slowly. Perspiration dripped between my breasts. Every moment could mean death for my husband.
An endless time to open, go through and, finally, close the door. I ran as a bird hopping from one safe spot to another until I was in a main corridor. All this time I asked, ‘Who? Who? from whom can I obtain aid? Who is available at this time of day? Who will believe me?’ I ran to Tokikazu’s quarters. He was not there. To the women’s apartments. Obāsan.
‘Help!’ I blurted, grabbed her arm and pushed her to run to Grand Room. ‘Michimori is in deadly danger! Come!’
Obāsan kept pace as I told her of the peril. It risked severe punishment to enter without permission. She said she knew what to do.
I stood by Grand Room’s great door, putting on my shoes. Obāsan went to the guards in front of it. Fortunately, one was Mokuhasa. We pulled him to one side and explained.
Obāsan rapidly instructed him, ‘Push me into Grand Room. I will be hysterical!’ He grabbed her. He marched in, dragging her. Next he shoved her forward. Mokuhasa loudly begged a thousand pardons for the interruptions. Obāsan screamed, ‘Yah-eeeeee! Yah-eeeeee!’
Mokuhasa said, ‘There is this hysterical old lady who . . .’ He made the special signal to our samurai.
The door to Grand Room shut. I repeated prayers of protection.
In our quarters that night, Obāsan related what had happened: ‘At the signal, all but the two strange samurai shifted to the alert position, changed their posture, hands on swords. By then Mokuhasa and I had placed ourselves between my lord Michimori and the impostors. Captain Tokikazu rushed in front of him, too. Warned, Michimori stood, hand on sword, ready to protect himself with his samurai.
‘The samurai surrounded the pair. The assassins fought, but were overwhelmed and prevented from committing seppuku.
‘I continued begging for forgiveness – at the intrusion – so that men from the provinces would not know what was transpiring.’ She cackled at her own cleverness.
At this Misuki smiled.
‘Mokuhasa and the samurai who helped us will be rewarded.’ Obāsan patted my hand. ‘Governor Michimori said land or rank, maybe both.’
‘Why would Governor Michimori do that when Kozaishō was the one who really gave warning?’ Misuki’s lips formed a pout.
I patted Misuki’s arm. ‘Mokuhasa and Obāsan truly saved him. Besides, since my presence was secret, I have no desire to be honoured.’ Grimacing at Misuki and Obāsan, I added, ‘If it had been either of you, you would have noticed such a blatant mistake sooner.’ They protested. I had been fortunate to recognise the difference when I did. It had been merely my karma to save his life, as he had saved mine. I was truly grateful to have done so.
IV. Fly In Web
That evening Michimori provided a celebration feast. People of rank, along with Obāsan, Akio and their families, assembled in Grand Room. Akio’s daughters had much changed. The oldest, Fumiko, was betrothed to one of Michimori’s personal samurai. Obāsan had few relatives, but her nephew, Ryo, attended and sat next to her.
Servants brought each person a tall tray made of lacquered wood, which stood above the floor. Next they carried a lacquered plate and chopsticks to each person. In the centre of each plate lay a mound of polished rice. Small dishes encircled t
he rice, and in each dish there was a little treasure: early spring or pickled vegetables; pickled and baked sea bream and shellfish; seaweed.
Jokes and stories regarding defeated foes flew around the room. It was the Day of the Monkey, again, so I remained awake all night and away from our living quarters. Michimori took me to the required neutral place, where we walked in one of his many gardens.
He could thrill at a single new leaf or bud and thanked those around him in such magnanimous ways, all of which enchanted me, but that night he was silent. I reflected on why: he had almost been assassinated: enemies had penetrated his home. His captain had bestowed an indecorous sword and scabbard upon his wife, an indication of intimate attentions. I hoped he did not believe they were reciprocated.
Escorted, I returned to my quarters the next morning, bringing ices for Emi. I needed to refresh myself and go behind the screens. I entered my apartments.
A monsoon had knocked down scrolls, scattered pillows, slashed quilts, upset futons, torn clothing and stuck the pieces into the corners. It looked as if some child, in a tantrum, had been at work.
Spiteful, yes. Child, no.
I checked, and no one was in the apartments. My next thoughts went to my notes, stitched into hems. Those garments had not been touched. For what could they have been probing? I went out to my little garden. The fishpond and the flowers would help me work on my new predicament.
When I opened the shoji, I saw Obāsan and Misuki holding each other, their eyes swollen, their sleeves blotched damp. Behind them, a pond-soaked heap of robes. Protruding from it I saw small colourless feet. At the other side, thick hair spread like seaweed across two limp arms stretched out as if reaching for a cat.
Emi.
She was face down. I wondered if her face looked like Tashiko’s after she had been murdered. I could not make myself turn it to see. I did not want to see. The pain of losing such a dear one, so hideously, again, seared me as if I had fallen into a fire pit. I stood, my body scalded, yet frozen inside.
I joined Obāsan and Misuki in a circle of sorrow for our lost one, the simple good one who had done her best. The hugs and tears could not stop my mind.
‘What happened? How did she drown?’ I screamed.
Obāsan’s voice cracked: ‘Behold her neck. The bruises on her shoulders.’
Misuki straightened the drenched robes. There it was, the same broken neck, the same twisted flesh, the same blank eyes. A lost friend, a lost companion. My eyes burned. Could it have been the work of the same man? Probably. Three Eyes.
The same as my beloved Tashiko. Obāsan held and comforted me. Much later she tried to coax me to eat, but I could not. My sweet Emi. My beautiful Tashiko. Obāsan stayed the night with me on my futon. Misuki wanted to stay, too, but she had touched the body and was defiled. I cried for the old and new losses. New horrors added to the old ones. Fear heaped on fear.
Oh, the senselessness!
A simple joyful woman
Long-time companion
Now a strangled, sopping heap
Rampage against this wasted death!
A message. Someone wanted Michimori dead, and I had interfered. Goro must have been behind this or Minamoto spies, perhaps even double spies. Goro had murdered my Tashiko and Michimori’s guards. He had counterfeited the seal, and now perhaps strangled this innocent.
Since I had not touched Emi, there was no need for Purification. A proper priest, code-named Plover, officiated at the ceremonies. He had earned his name because he, like the bird, had no neck and stood quietly for long periods. The completed ceremonies reassured me a little.
We cried and prayed for Emi’s soul to be reborn quickly into a happy life.
After the funeral, I took out my outrage and grief on a straw man with the shobuzukuri naginata. Tokikazu, Akio, my husband and I remained outside the pavilion to ensure that no one listened to us. Early morning proved best, because the birds would alert us with their silence or flight.
‘This is unusual.’ Tokikazu’s lips disappeared into each other. ‘They rarely leave a body for someone to find. This is a direct warning to you to stop.’ With a demand and a question at the same time, he gazed directly into my eyes without regard for Michimori and Akio’s presence.
I returned the stare. ‘I cannot stop.’ Turning to Michimori, I said, ‘Will you help me to live safely?’ I could not speak about my work behind the screens.
‘It will be done.’ Michimori paced closer to me. ‘Tokikazu, Akio, you will assist Lady Kozaishō.’
Tokikazu gestured, which I knew for him was as good as a solemn oath and referred me to Plover, saying, ‘We need to expand our network. You can trust this priest.’ Plover was not of other factions and visited almost each day. He and I spoke of Tashiko and Emi, but mostly we talked stratagems.
Misuki found another clue. After Plover had left, she brought some threads. Obāsan and I recognised them: they matched the brocade Goro had worn at my Purification, purple and white.
Tokikazu brought Plover to my apartments.
‘Yes, yes, these are his,’ Plover agreed. ‘There is more. We suspect he has Minamoto leanings. He disappears at odd times. He volunteers facts he should not know.’
I needed more information and contacts from everyone I trusted. Plover drew the lineage of families, reciting their histories beside the pond where poor Emi had died. Tokikazu and Obāsan listed people who had disappeared as well as a long list of enemies, which began with the name of Goro. Tokikazu had a personal stake in finding him because Goro had bested him and caused him to lose honour. Michimori doubled his mansion’s guards and placed an arc of samurai around my garden’s perimeter.
In the few days after Emi had died, Plover purified Misuki, at her request, and she returned to practising her archery with me. I was to go again to Grand Room.
‘I humbly beg you,’ Misuki requested breathlessly, as she came back into my apartments, ‘do you know where your writing box and papers are?’
Cold pierced my chest and turned my stomach to a striking anvil. ‘Yes.’ I shuddered. ‘I left them behind the screens in my haste to find Obāsan.’ Our eyes met, and the harsh taste of panic permeated my mouth. ‘Go to Obāsan immediately and tell her to find Tokikazu and Akio. We are in great jeopardy if those papers are found.’
While Misuki was gone, I prepared another writing box and gathered other papers to bring with me.
An aeon of panic and waiting.
I forced myself to sit still.
A note arrived from Michimori, with his paper’s special twists: ‘The flowers are safe.’
I took a deep breath before I reread his note. The icy anvil in my chest warmed.
Within a short time, he gave me a beautiful new document box, lacquered in gold and silver, inlaid with mother-of-pearl cranes flying through a sky with clouds of makie gold and silver. It was in this box that I kept my journal.
Akio guarded me through the passages to the screens. From that day I always carried at least both my swords.
The terror that gripped my throat became the friend who secured my safety.
V. Weaving Webs
With the extra daylight of spring, Michimori and I worked on the practice field after Grand Room. My fingers on arrows welcomed the warmth as much as the butterflies and horseflies, although they came in fewer numbers due to the lack of rain. I saw only the usual guards, but neither Tokikazu nor Akio was present. Michimori had a plan.
That afternoon we focused on stationary targets. Standing close, I waited on my husband. He used Akio’s tactic of spacing the arrows in his quiver so that they were easier to reach and shoot. He hit the centre of the target three times, then circled to me. ‘You see much of Akio.’
‘Did we not agree that he would stay close?’
‘Yes, but . . .’
I looked up at him. He was upset. Angry. ‘Is there a problem with Akio?’
He shrugged his shoulders. Discomfort edged into one side of his mouth.
‘What
action would you have me take?’ I had no desire to say his words for him.
‘The two of you spend much time together.’
‘How else can he protect me? Or teach me?’ Did he begrudge Akio’s time? Was this jealousy?
‘The two of you spend much time together – alone.’
A light spring breeze caressed the air, yet it felt like the heat of high summer. He was accusing me!
‘Akio has been my teacher and adviser since I was eight years old.’
‘I understand.’ He returned to the targets and employed Tokikazu’s technique of holding two arrows at the same time. He shot one, notched the second. ‘You see much of Captain Tokikazu.’
A statement. Not a question. Perhaps this was it. Was he suspicious? ‘Yes, my honourable lord.’ I used the formal address.
‘To what purpose?’
I also used the technique of holding two arrows at the same time. I shot one, notched the second and released it immediately, as Tokikazu had taught me. I stared Michimori in the face, bold as the edge of a blade. ‘To that end.’ I stormed away to the pavilion to try to cool myself with some water. How dare he suspect me? After all I had said to Tokikazu that night in the garden! After I had pledged myself to Right Action!
‘Come here!’
I halted. Breathed twice. Old habit. Then I strolled back to the targets. I focused my eyes away from him.
‘Kozaishō, I am ill at ease. Tokikazu is as indispensable to me as . . .’ He raised and shook his bow in his right hand. ‘He has two wives and several concubines.’
‘I am aware of this.’
‘I invest great trust in Tokikazu as my captain.’
His eyes could have pierced my new armour. ‘I am aware of this too.’ He knew Tokikazu had trifled with me. How? Perhaps he knew more. Could anyone know the heat between my legs when I saw him?
‘In other matters I can trust Tokikazu to have liaisons with beautiful women.’
The Pillow Book of the Flower Samurai Page 34