The Samurai's Lady

by Gaynor Baker

  “Arigato O gozaimasu. Thank you, Fujito-Sama.” She took the book from him. Their fingers touched for a brief second sending a fiery dart through her arm. “Do itashimashite. Don"t mention it.” He whispered. He was close enough to kiss her.

  Just then, Michiko returned with the evening meal. While he ate, Fujito conversed with the servant and her husband who joined them shortly.

  Katharine congratulated herself on being able to understand quite a bit of the conversation. After the meal, Fujito explained what he"d asked.

  “I know you can play the lute, and very well. I have asked Michiko to teach you the shamisan and the koto. Perhaps when you are proficient you might give a concert?”

  He smiled.

  “You have more confidence in my abilities than I, Fujito-Sama.” She said shyly lowering her eyes demurely.

  How was she going to hate this place when he kept giving her complements? “I believe you underestimate yourself, my Lady.” He answered. He had heard her playing alone in her room, softly so as not to disturb the rest of the house. He had heardher singing low in her mother"s native Welsh. But to interrupt her would have been embarrassing and might have prevented her from continuing.

  A few days later he received a surprise visit from the local representative of the Shogun. What was he doing here Fujito wondered, watching him approach; the Shogun liked to throw his weight around and intimidate the local Daimyo with the threat of wide scale household movements.

  Then his abdomen tightened with sudden fear. Had Ryochi informed on him? He had just enough time to make sure Katharine was safely in the garden before the envoy rapped loudly on the door.

  “Lord Fujito, it is good to see you.” He smiled when Fujito opened the door. He did not believe his jovial attitude. He was up to something. He invited him into his audience chamber and had Michiko bring sake.

  “I assume you know about the crucifixions of Christians in Nagasaki?” Haratoda asked. “And of the Shogun"s subsequent order of ban on the foreign religion? With deathbeing the penalty for all those who defy the order?” He smiled silkily. Of course, Fujito hadn"t known and he could see in the man"s eyes that Haratoda knew it.

  That Haratoda might know something else, about himself, did not worry him. He was registered at the local temple. There was nothing in his character or daily life that would arouse suspicion.

  But if Katharine"s presence should be detected or reported before she was ready…. He prayed silently that Haratoda would not demand to search the premises for Christian artifacts; he knew that had happened in many other places with dire consequences for those who held them.

  He did not. After another round of drinks he got up and staggered across the room.

  He certainly cannot hold his wine, Fujito thought as he watched him almost bump into the door.

  They bid each other farewell and he watched his visitor mount his horse. After he"d turned and rode away Fujito went into the garden to make sure that Katharine was still safe and that Hiratoda went away without seeing her.

  He had to get her away from Kyushu. Every government official knew of the underground movement of the Christian faith that was on the southernmost end of the country. There would be metsuke everywhere soon, ferreting out the remnants of those too strong in faith to capitulate and renounce their God.

  He could hide; he knew the fine points of Japanese religion and knew what was expected; Katharine did not. He must think of something. If what Haratoda told him meant what he thought it might he had to move quickly.

  But before he could formulate a plan there was something even more immediate and pressing to deal with. He was in his study when Ryochi asked for permission to enter.

  “Of course.” Fujito looked up and put aside his notebook.

  “It is my wife.” Ryochi told him seriously. “She is unwell.”

  Fujito frowned. He had wondered why she had not been present this morning. “What seems to be the problem?”

  “I don"t know, Sensei. I was hoping you would come and examine her.” Of course.” He rose from his seat and followed his long time friend out into the bright May sunshine.

  “I saw Haratoda here the other day.” Ryochi said as they walked along the path to the couple"s house. “I would like you to know that I did not send for him.” “I know that, Ryochi. You may not like what I"m doing but I know you well enough to know that you wouldn"t interfere. Now, what about Michiko, tell me exactly?”

  He explained it quickly. Katharine, who had been walking nearby overheard just enough of the conversation to know that if Fujito did what he was prescribing the woman could only get worse and die.

  “Sumimasen Deshta. Excuse me, Fujito-Sama.” She said politely, “But if you do that, Michiko will die.”

  Both men stopped short. “What are you talking about?” Fujito asked. His brows furrowed into a frown.

  Not answering his question exactly, she asked instead “Where is she Matashima San?”

  “In here.” He pointed to the house. Looking uncertainly at his master, he waited until Fujito nodded before leading Katharine in.

  She examined the woman and knew exactly what to do. But how did she instruct a respected Sensei like Fujito?

  The woman"s pleading eyes gave the answer.

  “Get me a knife. And some sake.”

  Something in her voice must have commanded Fujito"s curiosity for he signaled for Ryochi to do so. The concerned husband moved worriedly and quickly to do her bidding. When the operation was over she explained her actions and offered an apology.

  “Forgive me, Fujito Sama. But you had carried out the treatment you suggested the lady"s finger would have festered even more and the infection would have spread. It

  was almost there already. I cannot say that it hasn"t spread inside before this. But now, with your expert ministrations, Fujito-Sama she should make a full recovery. If I haven"tcut too far the finger should even grow back.”

  “My ministrations would have obviously the wrong thing to do. How did you know what to do?” His voice held admiration rather than anger.

  “My mother had the same thing happen to her. Only it was her toe. She stepped on a rusty nail. Well, after many days of poultices and ointments without improvement my father found a man who had studied in Italy who did the same thing as I have just done.

  Ryochi joined them. He had been sitting with his wife until he was sure she was sleeping peacefully. He bowed before Katharine. “Domo Arigato, Katsuko San.” “Do itashimashite. You"re welcome, Matashima San.” She answered bowing. “We should leave them be now. Michiko needs to sleep”

  “Yes of course.” Fujito agreed. He stood slowly and, her usurpation of authority now unnecessary, she followed him submissively out.

  “Where is Italy?” He asked on their way back to the main house.

  “I think this means another geography lesson, FujitoSama.”

  He threw back his head and laughed a sound that could be heard as far as the house.

  Watching them from the doorway, Ryochi smiled. He had just gained a new respect for the barbarian woman.

  When they reached the house Fujito boiled the kettle for tea. Katharine waited in the room next to the kitchen.

  Now that the emergency was over the enormity of what she had done flooded over her. Both the operation itself and her defiance of Fujito"s authority, for which she knew, he could have killed her. When he returned he found her shaking. He set the cups down and came over to her.

  “Katsuko, Katharine, what is it?” He said gently. Kneeling beside her, he covered her cold hand with his.

  His hand was warm, strong,and reassuring. “I don"t know. I feel weak suddenly.” She said softly.

  Fujito smiled. “You"re reacting to what just happened.” He explained. “When we are in the heat of the moment we don"t realize how hot the fire is coursing through us.

  But when the situation is over, the danger past, the cold has to take over.” He reached for the cups and handed one to her placing both her h
ands on it. “Thank you.” She said for the moment forgetting her Japanese.

  “Think nothing of it.” He answered also in English.

  Within a few days, Michiko was feeling fine again, although she found it difficult to work with a bandaged finger. Fujito had examined the wounded digit and was amazed at the remarkable work Katharine had done. And she had risen in the estimations of both Ryochi and his wife.

  A few weeks later a celebration was held when the wound had healed. Fujito insisted it be held in his main hall. When Katharine went looking for him that afternoon, she found him there.

  She had never been in the main room before and was struck by its simple beauty. “Konnichi wa. Good afternoon” Fujito smiled upon seeing her.

  “Konnichi wa Fujito-Sama” She repeated bowing.

  “It is beautiful, isn"t it?” He asked, referring to the hall.

  “Yes.” Her eyes swept over the wall mural of tigers and Ginko trees, long grass and lotus blossoms, the laquerwork inlaid with mother of pearl, all bathed in the soft western light from the translucent shoji.

  “What did you want to see me about?” He asked.

  “What? Oh, I don"t remember. I"m sorry. I"ll see if everything is ready.” She turned and left the room quickly but was not quick enough to miss hearing his chuckle.

  He wondered what had flustered her, her surroundings or him. Secretly he hoped it was the latter.

  After the meal had been eaten, the concert began. Fujito asked Katharine to show off some of her ability at the instruments that Michiko had been teaching her. She did so hesitantly but with great skill, for someone so recently taught. Then Fujito took a turn at the flute. The melody was slow and haunting, reminding Katharine of a leisurely sail in herfather"s tiny rowboat on the Themes and she was carried away on the waves of the flowing notes. She closed her eyes and everything but Fujito and the music remained behind her lids.

  “Katsuko?” His gentle voice brought her out of her reverie.

  “Yes, Fujito-Sama?” She hoped he hadn"t noticed she"d been far away. He had in fact been watching her but said nothing.

  “Would you please honor us with a song from your homeland?”

  “Certainly.” She smiled.

  The number she chose was a bouncy one and her audience was swaying and tapping their hands to the music. Fujito was smiling, thoroughly enjoying himself. The next number started out very slowly but suddenly changed to a much faster pace. Even though they couldn"t understand the words they laughed with her vocal inflections and applauded loudly when she finished. Fujito requested yet another. This time she chose a quick yet lilting number with an easy tune to remember. When she protested need of a drink Fujito laughed and poured one for her and then took up his flute.

  The tune was another slow one; Katharine thought it must be another lullaby. She sipped her sake and swayed to the enjoyable melody. Next he played a somewhat faster piece, or perhaps it was simply written in another time signature. But she enjoyed it all the same. When the song ended he smiled and motioned for her to join him. Was he expecting her to play along with his accompaniment? No, she couldn"t! It made her nervous even to think about it. But she dare not refuse. After the first hesitant notes, she found his style easy to follow and she found herself smiling at her audience. So intent was she on the music that she didn"t notice that she was smiling at Fujito, too. It was not until the end of the song that she realized he was looking at her with a misty gaze; something smoldered in the background but was gone as the last note drifted away.

  The final songs of the evening were once again Katharine"s. The first was a quick melody about counting sheep of different colors. The final song was a Welsh lullaby in a minor key. She could see that it moved Fujito very much. That night her dreams were a mix of romantic scenes, containing Fujito and herself. All through it seemed she could hear the lullabies they"d played the previous evening. When she woke, she did not know whether the dreams, which she remembered vividly, delighted or disturbed her.

  A few days after that, he received an unwelcome visitor. Fujito saw the horse and rider. He was just visible on the rise of a hill outside the castle wall, but it was obvious what he had com to see. There was no mistaking the direction of his glance.

  Fujito"s stomach constricted. He recognized the livery of the metsuke, the Shogun"s spies. And he knew they were looking for Katharine. Someone, not Ryochi, this he knew, had reported her presence. He had to get her away from Kyushu. Then he had an idea

  He would send her to Kimika. His sister lived in Kanazawa where her husband and his family were moved two years ago. Not of the Shimazu, the Shogun was not intimidated by them. Katharine could become a household servant; everyone but their masters ignored menials.

  Then another, more difficult problem occurred to him—his brother-in-law. He would need to send word asking when Kazu would be away. Kimika"s husband could be overbearing. He would have to impress upon her that Katharine must only do light chores. She was not to be subjected to heavy work.

  Later, alone in his room, he took a scroll from a case inscribed with the emblem of the Buddha. Unrolling it, he read not Buddhist texts but the Psalms. “Oh, Father.” He prayed. “Please give me a sign that I am doing the right thing.” A reply from Kimika arrived settling his mind. Of course, she wrote she would be welcome there. She would be her personal maid, that way Kazu would have nothing to say about it. She would think up an explanation for her sudden presence later.

  The morning after the letter"s arrival he broached the subject with Katharine. His fear of his giving in at whatever protest she might offer made him speak more sharply than he meant to.

  “You must leave this place.” He told her without ceremony. “I have decided what to do with you.”

  “Do with me?” She stared at him open mouthed, incredulous. The closeness that had developed between them these past months evaporated like water vapor. “How dareyou! I am not a piece of rubbish you can pick up and throw away at will.” She was up and across the room in the blink of an eye.

  “Katsuko. Katharine, please. Dozo?” He said gently, turning her to face him. “I"m sorry. I didn"t mean it that way.” He preferred this reaction to a tearful protest. She couldmove him to act as he normally would not when she cried. “I"m sending you to my sister in Kanazawa. Your master died and you appealed to the Daimyo rather than beg or go hungry. He took pity on you and sent you where he knew you would be happy.”

  “Where is Kanazawa?” She asked, despondently.

  “On the island of Honshu.” He answered, remembering their geography lesson that seemed so long ago now. “Ryochi and I will take you.”

  “When do we leave?”

  “Next week.” He told her. “I am having papers prepared so that we can pass the checkpoints more easily.”

  “Checkpoints?” She wondered.

  “Yes.” He saw fear and the need to trust mixing in her eyes and reached out to hold her small hand in his. “I am sorry I can"t tell you everything now. You will have totrust me.” He held her gaze. “It will be all right, I promise.” He said softly. The days were becoming hot and humid. The rains had stopped, making everything fresh and green.

  One of Katharine"s most enjoyable pastimes was to sit in the garden and play her lute, especially in late afternoon. Her English dresses, fine when she was recuperating indoors had been put aside in favor of the yukata, a cotton kimono. Fujito watched her from the crest of a low hill, enjoying the music and her lilting voice.

  After the evening meal, Fujito went out onto the veranda. Katharine was sitting facing the garden and the sunset, her lute in her lap.

  “Play me that song you played the other night.” He requested. “The one that started slow then got faster.”

  She knew the one he meant and began to strum.

  When she was finished, he complimented her on her voice. She blushed prettily, which made him smile. He left for a moment then returnedwith a book. “A tale of Genji.” He told her. “Would you like me to read som
e to you?”

  “Certainly.” She set her lute aside and listened attentively. She could now understand a great deal of the words, and this pleased her.

  The heat was oppressive and she began to doze. Unknowingly she rested her head on his shoulder. She did not know how much time had passed when she felt the touch of his fingers on her cheek.

  “Come, my little plum blossom.” He said softly. “It is time you were asleep.” He smiled. He helped her up and followed her inside.

  The night before their departure for Kanazawa was clear and warm. Katharine, having nothing better to do went out to the veranda. The sun was just about to set behind the western hills when she heard the screen slide open. Fujito stepped out carrying his flute and a lantern. She stood up to leave.

  He set the lantern down and knelt beside it. She had just reached the door when he said,

  “No, please stay.”

  The melody he played was beautiful, almost haunting. Enraptured, she closed her eyes and floated on the strains. When she opened her eyes, the sun"s last rays were justreaching the bay just beyond the low bamboo wall at the end of the garden. She went to get a better look at the shimmering water.

  Putting the flute down he came to stand beside her. “It is beautiful, isn"t it? Come.” He took her hand and led her across the bridge.

  Gentle waves lapped at the shore of the bay that had, only a few months ago, been deadly. The sun rested on the distant islands, turning the water a red-pink and tingeing the few clouds above them with mauve

  Fujito sat on a large near-by rock and motioned for her to join him. Submissively she knelt beside him on the sand. Without thinking, she leaned closer to support her

  weight. Unexpectedly he encircled her shoulders with his arm. Katharine wondered how much of Western ways he knew.

  He would never know if it was the sunset or the fact that he might never see her again, that moved him. Or perhaps it was the proximity to each other over the last months or the soft koto playing in the distance that inspired him to press a kiss on her temple. She met his soft gaze with questioning eyes; his lips met hers in a quick feather-like kiss, and then returned.