The Pillow Book of the Flower Samurai

by Barbara Lazar

  What can I do? Ahead, Michimori. To the east, Minamoto. No one on the beach. No Akio. No Tokikazu.

  Glance back: no Tokikazu or Akio.

  Glance forward: Michimori.

  He roars with each stroke, over and over, his howls almost drowned by the thundering tide below. With each bellow more quivering bodies flop, topple.

  Fresh ones close in. Two in front, three each beside and behind.

  And archers, more and more archers shoot him in the neck.

  I strike with my stirrups. My horse only snorts and tosses his head.

  Michimori stiffens, taking the blow.

  Another through his eye. His body sags. Collapses. Samurai slog up.

  Then – the stroke. They take his head.

  His blood erupts. Gone. Falling upon corpses slain by his own hand.

  Too late. Too far away. My whole body tightens into a white-hot coal. Unable to die beside him. Despair and rage consume me like a pyre.

  His spirit is with his ancestors. Nothing more I can do. No small comfort to give. Nothing, nothing to do for him.

  They wrench off his helmet and seize his head. My stomach falls to the bottom of the deepest water. They cheer and throw his head into a box. A head box. They brought a head box. They planned to take his head as a trophy. A trap. A dishonourable murder.

  I flatten to the thinness of summer silk. I am emptied. Bloodied and stunned, I ride back among the enemy, hearing the combat . . . My vision blurs. I allow my mount to go wherever he will. All I see: my husband’s head. Dizzy. Pain jabs, punches and crushes, squeezes me. Blackness.

  Misuki sits beside me, a cup at my lips. ‘Your water has broken, Kozaishō. Drink. You will need your strength.’

  At first I do not understand. I endeavour to stand. Contractions. Labour.

  I need to protect my baby. His baby. Our baby. Tokikazu. Perhaps he is alive, but how to find him? ‘Any servants left?’

  ‘Only three.’

  ‘Foot soldiers?’ I already know the answer.

  Misuki remains silent.

  Misuki has waited for me. Most have left on ships or been killed. The beach and the sand are clear of our soldiers, except for corpses and body pieces, enemies and blood. The ships are going back to Yashima.

  I talk of the treachery. Words come from somewhere else, a story of an oni far away, a long time ago. I tell her of that last stroke. I notice spots on my armour. Tokikazu’s practice armour. I wonder if it is raining. Misuki removes the armour, piece by piece. The splotches still appear. She sits and holds my hand while I tell her what I saw. Again.

  Again . . . Misuki and I cry together. Then I write this poem:

  Mighty fallen tree!

  Struck down by cowardly hands

  My lord lying there

  The shade tree of my summers

  Your icy broken body

  It is night. Misuki feeds me. My throat swallows, yet I do not taste.

  Now I can think what to do. I tell Misuki. She agrees to finish my story. History will record that I have honoured the great lord whom I have been privileged to follow, Governor of Echizen Province, Taira no Michimori, nephew of Taira no Kiyomori. I wish to record how my honourable lord was cut down. I will ask that a moral code, a code of honour and wielding power with integrity, which he followed, will be made known to every samurai and enforced by all. Never again should such a death befall so great a man.

  V. The Coin

  My Lady Kozaishō grieves profoundly, yet she orders me to write her final words.

  ‘I have finished my story and my life, Misuki. It has been an honourable life. The Gods have blessed me many times – especially in my life’s retrieval by my honourable lord’s hand. I want to prove my respect, my honour, my love – by joining him.’

  I write the rest of her story as she speaks. I swear on my parents’ and grandparents’ spirits to finish writing what has happened before I perform her other requests. I beg her to live for the best interests of her child, but she says, ‘An honourable wife tends only one husband.’

  We both know she would probably be taken as a concubine for the Minamoto, killed, tortured or worse. She expresses her desire to serve Commander-in-Chief Taira no Michimori in the afterlife.

  ‘Now I must go to him. I must not be separated from him.’ She dictates this poem:

  Thunder shakes the sky,

  Rain batters the calm terrain,

  Sorrowful eyes everywhere,

  Blind eyes chilled thoroughly through,

  I seek the sunlight no more

  My name is Misuki. I have completed the birth and the death. May the Amida Buddha be praised and everlasting.

  The shock of seeing Michimori murdered before her eyes causes Kozaishō to start her labour. I attend her. She shows herself to be a true samurai. She bleeds much but cries little. She asks me to search through our furoshiki to find Tokikazu’s coin. With her permission, I send this to him with a serving girl. He arrives shortly after the birth in the early morning.

  When my lady sees Tokikazu she screams, ‘How could you leave him? How could you take his horse? You let him die!’

  She almost falls to the ground.

  Tokikazu dismounts from Thunderbolt and limps to her. On his knees in front of her, holding her hands, he moans, ‘Kozaishō, Kozaishō, Kozaishō. I did not think I would see you again. It was Michimori who ordered me away. He ordered me not to die with him. He ordered me to live and protect you.’

  Kozaishō lays her head on his arm. ‘He told me he had given you that order.’

  ‘The three of us could escape now.’ Tokikazu strokes Kozaishō’s hand. ‘Come with me.’

  ‘No, I cannot. But I need you to protect the child.’

  ‘Michimori knew. That was the reason for his order and for sending me away.’ His head motions to the mountain where Michimori died.

  ‘No, Tokikazu. I cannot. I need to – need to follow my husband. I know you and I may be together in the next life. Yet for this one life now, I honour and love Michimori.’

  ‘I promise to protect and raise the baby as if it were my own. How I wish this baby was mine!’

  I hear his weeping.

  My lady lifts a tired hand to touch the captain’s face. ‘My cherished Tokikazu, we both know such dishonour would have harmed the child.’

  ‘We both loved Michimori too much. I will yearn for you in the rest of this life. I hope to be reborn with you. Soon.’

  ‘And I with you, but I am resolved. You know there is only one Right Action. Sadly, it is not to go with you. However, I give you my most precious piece of straw.’

  Tokikazu takes her hand in both of his and cradles it against his cheek. ‘Your hand is like a white lotus leaf floating on this blackened and bloody world.’ He weeps in soft sobs.

  When they leave the tent, they come to me.

  ‘My dear Misuki,’ Kozaishō holds the child to her breast, ‘Tokikazu has agreed to take the baby away.’ She smiles and cries, gazing at Tokikazu. ‘I do not know where. May the Amida Buddha and the Goddess of Mercy guide and protect them.’

  Tokikazu says, ‘Misuki, I will defend the baby with my life. I wish to stay and assist you, but I must go now or I will not be able to leave.’

  I understand. I watch from a little distance as Kozaishō and Tokikazu say their farewells. I hear them recite the Lotus Sutra for protection. Silently I recite it with them.

  He stuffs his arrows into the waist of his hitatare. He settles the swaddled child, positions the bundle inside his quiver and firmly attaches it to his waist. ‘Not too late. You could come with us.’ His eyebrows lift.

  ‘A samurai wife has only one husband.’ Her eyes fill and the tears topple on to her cheeks. She shakes her head. ‘You do have my most precious piece of straw.’

  Tokikazu says goodbye to me, mounts Thunderbolt and gallops away from the mountains and the Minamoto.

  I write:

  The white-headed waves

  Batter the cold winter sand
/>   Their angry voices scream

  ‘Run away, come away now

  Go away, run away, hide!’

  I ask Kozaishō, ‘What did you mean, piece of straw?’

  ‘I thought I had told you all my stories. This is a story that reminds me of my life.

  ‘Long ago a young man on his way to Heian-kyō prayed to Kannon-sama, the Goddess of Mercy, who appeared to him in a dream. She told him he could not receive mercy in this life because of past sins, but he would receive a gift. The next morning he was to pick up the first thing he found. The following morning he stumbled and a piece of straw stuck to his palm. Remembering the dream, he kept it.

  On the road to Heian-kyō, rather than kill an annoying bee, the young man tied the bee to the piece of straw. Later, because the bee delighted a travelling mother’s child, the young man exchanged it for three oranges. With compassion for thirsty travellers he met, he accepted their offer of silk for the oranges. Next, he traded the silk to despairing servants for their master’s favourite, but now dead, horse. With prayers to Kannon-sama the dead horse revived. Last, the horse was bartered for land. The young, starving, yet pious man became, through his hard work and kindness, a wealthy and prosperous landowner.’

  VI. Last Performance

  It is a long day. I write Lady Kozaishō’s last entry in her journal, her death poem:

  Near the bloody fields

  I dress in white kimono.

  The next adventure,

  After a life with honour –

  Life with my lord and Buddha.

  I take great consideration in her dress. This is Lady Kozaishō’s last act. She reads and reviews what I write.

  I prepare seating mats. Not one of our samurai companions is alive. The Minamoto are at a distance. My lady knows her fate if she survives – death, forced marriage with a Minamoto, or worse.

  In a loud voice, her cheeks bright with determination, she says, ‘I must honour my great lord, but not as a woman. Instead I must die as any of his samurai . . . as Tokikazu would.’

  So I strengthen myself to do what is necessary. Terrified, I ready the blade. The bright reflection of her in the tachi makes me squint. My hands are so cold that I cannot feel my fingers.

  Kozaishō gives me her last instructions: take the papers to Tiger, Shogun Minamoto no Yoshitsune, the victor. I am to ask him to read this and remember to ask for the other kindnesses Kozaishō directs me. I tell her again that I understand and remember.

  I thank my dear Kozaishō for all her tenderness. My eyes drip. She smiles with melancholy but ready eyes. We stroll arm in arm, holding on to each other, to the appointed place. She kneels on the mat. I arrange her kimonos. I light candles and incense and am amazed when the fire starts at the first attempt, a clear sign of favour.

  I comb her hair. After all these years, I still marvel at its length and thickness. I assure her the top knot is perfect. I help her open the stomach of her kimono and reposition the folds to catch the blood.

  She says her sutras, as I do. Her eyes are dry. ‘I am going to join my honourable lord Michimori. The little warbler will be with her protector.’ She thanks me and bends her neck. She takes her dagger and I hold the sword.

  I nod.

  I tighten my body and concentrate.

  I look into her sweet eyes. She moves her hands over her dagger.

  Kozaishō jabs the dagger far into her belly with a breathless sound. I strike at the side of her neck. Her head falls. It drops beside her spurting body, spewing torrents of blood. She dies a true samurai. I am, at least, a witness to that.

  I lay out her legs and arms, wash them, and straighten the folds of her robes. I wipe my hands on the cloths we put aside. I take the papers, cover them in waterproof cloths, and place them in the document box, the one with the cranes. All is done as my lady wishes.

  I clasp the document box and dagger in one hand. With no head box, I grasp the top knot of Lady Kozaishō’s head carefully in the other. I walk to Shogun Minamoto no Yoshitsune. May the Gods be merciful to Lady Kozaishō’s great spirit. I will ask what I have sworn to ask, or die myself.

  BOOK 18

  By order of Shogun Minamoto no Yoshitsune, after the battle of Ichinotani, Seventh day, Second month, Third year of the Juei Era, it is written:

  At dusk a woman staggered through the sand, moving westward across the battlefield and through the smoke of burning tents and bodies. Clusters of crows scattered before her, swelling in a froth of feathers. Their stark cries screeched against the coming night. She stepped in silence among the dead and dying. The birds shifted behind her, cackling and feasting in clumps.

  The woman’s tears smeared the dried blood on her face in pink trails. Under her left arm she held a document box with a blade, a dagger, tied on top of it. In her right hand, dangling by its samurai topknot, she gripped a severed head.

  Wandering across the blood-soaked sand, her clothes snagged on arrows, swords and fingers clutching the air for missing weapons. Each time she untangled herself, she lurched forward. Deaf to groans and pleas for water, blind to the thick knots of buzzard-hawks consuming corpses, she stared straight ahead, stumbling, oblivious to the brutal stench of entrails and the drone of flies.

  Our great Lord Shogun Minamoto no Yoshitsune and his Four Heavenly Kings, the samurai who constantly protect him, observed this woman. Noticing the dagger, they formed a semicircle in front of the shogun, and their fingers crept closer to their swords. However, the shogun placed his fists on his hips and waited until she stood before him. The woman approached and dropped to her knees. She tilted to the left and placed the document box and dagger on the ground. The head wobbled. Crossing her left hand to her right side, she spread her robes on the ground. She lowered the head on to them with her right hand. She bent herself all the way to the earth.

  Our lord Shogun Minamoto no Yoshitsune considered her. ‘Speak.’

  Her mouth opened and closed. Finally, her voice sputtered, and words spilled out like a waterfall. ‘My name is Misuki, servant to Lady Kozaishō. I have completed serving her in ritual suicide. I swore an oath to tell her story.’

  One of the Four Heavenly Kings cocked his sword guard with his thumb. ‘I have no time to listen to a servant. I can cut off her head for this disruption.’

  The second Heavenly King looked at the first. ‘This may be the head of the infamous Lady Kozaishō.’

  The fourth Heavenly King turned and addressed the shogun: ‘Lord Yoshitsune, I, too, have heard of this Lady Kozaishō’s accomplishments. Let us listen to this.’

  All the Heavenly Kings shifted towards Shogun Yoshitsune to await orders.

  Thus spoke the great Shogun Minamoto no Yoshitsune: ‘If we do not attend to the request of this departed soul, I am certain her ghost will haunt us to the end of our days.’ He lifted his hands to the sky and returned them to his hips. ‘Let us honour our victory by hearing the words of her servant.’

  ‘Thank you, honourable Shogun Minamoto no Yoshitsune,’ the servant stammered, almost whispering, and prostrated herself again on the ground. She lifted her face a little and touched her tongue over her lips.

  Shogun Yoshitsune snapped a command to his attendants, and they brought a jar of water. The woman held it in both hands and drank. The water spilled on her robes. Next, breathing as if she were still swallowing, she stared at the head.

  Shogun Yoshitsune motioned for seats. When they arrived, he sat. ‘Begin. I am ready to hear this story.’

  She struggled with words. New tears cascaded streaks on to her robes. At last she took in a deep breath and said, ‘My name is Misuki, servant to the Lady Kozaishō. She demanded I swear upon the souls of my ancestors that I perform three actions: listen and finish recording her story; assist her with seppuku; share her story with you, Minamoto no Yoshitsune.’

  From her seated position the servant bowed towards Shogun Yoshitsune. ‘I did swear. I gathered paper and brush with ink stone and brought the writing table outside the tent. I am gr
ateful to you for allowing me to fulfil my sworn duty, so that I and my ancestors may rest.

  ‘I assisted my lady in suicide, as she asked. I washed her body and head. No reason to scatter salt or wash my mouth and hands. I am in deep mourning and will remain with this defilement for the full forty-nine days . . . perhaps for the rest of my life.

  ‘Following my lady’s directions, I took the document box, the dagger and her head, and I came here.’

  The servant Misuki placed the dagger and document box on her lap. She moved towards the head. After a long silence, she adjusted her mistress’s hair with one hand, and with the other waved the dagger to brush away the early spring flies. Straightening, she set the blade on the ground. Opened the document box. Unwrapped and spread the papers. Cleared her throat.

  She began to read . . .

  GLOSSARY

  Art of War, The

  a Chinese book on warfare written by Sun Tsu

  bagaku

  ancient courtly dances

  biwa

  type of lute

  Bodhisattva

  A being aspiring and/or approaching Buddha hood, particularly through compassionate and altruistic acts, and often by postponing their individual entry into nirvana to aid others going towards enlightenment

  bokken

  wooden practice sword

  chō

  11,900 square metres or 108 metres (land and length measurement)

  chōami

  game with dice

  chōya

  the principal, leader, chief, or senior; successful

  Cinnabar Cleft

  vagina

  Divergent Directions

  As dictated by the Gods of Divergent Directions, required affected person(s) not to travel in prohibited directions. if violated, misfortune and/or illness might befall the person(s), or even an entire nation.

  do-maru

  square, torso-covering armour used by foot soldiers