The Persimmon Tree

by Bryce Courtenay

  Anna began by becoming adept at handling the seven-metre lengths of hemp rope, learning the theory of its twists and turns, the feel of its tension on her arms and legs, though the seventh okami-san was careful not to bruise her. It was painstaking and often boring work as Anna learned the where, how, what and when of tension and bondage. But the truly painful aspect of the wrapping of the genitals was left for last.

  One afternoon toward the end of the second month Anna entered her room to change into a kimono for lunch with the colonel and found to her surprise that a wooden platform, about twenty centimetres in height and about the size of a single bed, stood in one corner of the large bedroom, standing sufficiently far from the wall so that it was possible to move completely around it. Anna knew better than to ask Konoe-san why it had been built and placed in her room. That afternoon Korin-san arrived to give the second instruction accompanied by a second okami-san. The seventh okami-san explained that her companion was to be the surrogate uke; on her the wrappings and lessons in pain would begin. ‘We will work on the platform,’ the seventh okami-san said, pointing. ‘This is not usual, as kinbaku is usually practised on a futon on the tatami.’ She shrugged. ‘But those are the honourable Konoe-san’s instructions.’

  When the other okami-san had removed her kimono Anna saw that she wore a tightly fitted cotton vest and shorts that ended at her knees, in appearance not unlike the bathing suits women wore at the start of the twentieth century. She was a woman with very small breasts but these had been tightly strapped to resemble the hardness of the male chest. Konoe Akira was tall and carried no excess weight and his chest would therefore be firm.

  Then Korin-san produced a triangle of soft leather that had a base eight centimetres wide and straps on either side to create a belt; this was intended to go around the waist and be tied at the small of the back. The triangle, much to the giggling amusement of the two okami-san and then eventually Anna, was inverted with the broad side positioned under the navel and the straps from each side tied at her back, so that the apex now hung between the second okami-san’s legs. It was pulled tightly down by another strap that hung from the point of the triangle, went between her legs and through the cheeks of her cotton-clad buttocks and was finally attached to the waist belt at the back. The inverted soft leather triangle contained six press-stud halves sewn into a circle at the centre in the exact position a male penis and genitals would hang. It was then that Korin-san, to giggles of delight, produced her pièce de résistance. Made of flesh-pale suede leather, it was a perfect imitation of male sex organs. Korin-san carefully clipped this to the inverted leather triangle.

  ‘The suede leather has almost the same feel as the real thing,’ she explained, laughing. Then she stepped back. ‘Touch, please,’ she commanded. Anna knew the feel of a flaccid penis from her father’s drunken need to urinate into a bottle in the cabin of the Witvogel. But later, when Korin-san produced a second set where the penis was erect, Anna was amazed at the bone-hard rigidity of the erect male appendage. ‘When they have been drinking sake it is not always like this,’ Korin-san laughed.

  For the next two months the two okami-san, surrogate and instructor, worked with Anna to perfect the genital restraint and the other bondage wrapping until she could do it perfectly while blindfolded. ‘Until it can be done as if you are sightless, by feel alone, you will not be perfect,’ Korin-san insisted. ‘Some uke wish kinbaku to take place in total darkness; it is called “by starlight”, and the honourable Konoe-san may request this from you, so your fingertips must become your eyes.’

  In the process of teaching her, one great difficulty emerged when Anna pointed out that Konoe Akira was unable to bend his right knee and the asymmetrical position kinbaku required would need to be compromised. They had worked an additional week on this difficulty and it was Anna who finally solved it with a cleverly devised additional wrapping of the rope. The seventh okami-san was impressed. ‘To modify but also retain perfection is a great talent, Anna-san,’ she’d said with genuine admiration.

  Anna continued to lunch with Konoe Akira every day during the period of the second instruction, and while he constantly challenged and questioned her on her language lessons, often disputing 2nd Lieutenant Ando’s grammar so that the following morning Anna would take back his version to her instructor, he never asked about her progress with the seventh okami-san.

  Anna, always mischievous, would tease the shy young university lecturer with Konoe Akira’s pedantic corrections. Her tutor would invariably shake his head and smile. ‘If the Japanese language was the sole province of the intellectuals and the nobility we would be plunged back into the age of the wandering knights of the samurai,’ he would say, then hastily add, ‘But you must obey him always, Anna-san. I am only a 2nd lieutenant and wish to keep my humble head firmly intact upon my shoulders.’

  Four months and one week after she had commenced to work with the seventh okami-san, finishing lunch with the obligatory cigarette lit and the initial puff sent to the verandah roof, Konoe Akira leaned back and announced in an arbitrary voice, ‘Tomorrow, after lunch, there will be no okami-san. You must rest in the afternoon in your room, where you will also dine and prepare yourself. I have arranged for a new kimono for you to wear. You will bring green tea with you. Yasuko-san will escort you to the door of my room. She will knock twice, then you will send her away. I will respond and open the door thirty seconds later. It will be precisely eight o’clock when I will do so. A car will be ready to return you home at eleven o’clock precisely. Do you have any questions?’

  Anna, with her eyes downcast, replied, ‘I am honoured to be asked to attend to you, Konoe-san.’

  The following day Anna made the necessary arrangements for Kiki to come to the police kampong to care for her father and told Til that she would not be returning at five o’clock, so it was unnecessary for him to fetch her as the colonel would send her home by motorcar.

  Til looked shocked. ‘What time will he send you home, Anna?’ he asked.

  ‘He is always exact, eleven o’clock,’ she replied.

  ‘Then I will be at the gate. I must see that you are safe,’ he said in an unequivocal voice. Anna knew better than to argue with him. She knew that he saw himself as her guardian and she loved him for it. Til was sanity in an uncertain world.

  After lunch with the colonel Anna went to her room where, hanging in the huge teak Dutch wardrobe, was a new kimono of exquisite yellow silk and a white silk obi and juban. It was by far the most beautiful of her kimonos and the significance of the yellow and white silk was not lost on her. In Konoe Akira’s bedchamber she would become the first vase of flowers, his own arrangement, the art appearing on her canvas, the white ‘no colour’ of the obi to highlight the yellow of singular perfection.

  On her dressing table lay a new silver-backed hairbrush with the words ‘First Vase’ engraved in Japanese. Beside this was placed a tiny eggshell-porcelain bowl containing a single frangipani flower, its petals white descending to purest yellow at its centre. Anna also noted that the raw-cotton bag containing the neatly folded hemp ropes that was usually placed beside the dresser was missing.

  Anna spent the long afternoon trying to read an involved text 2nd Lieutenant Ando had given her about correct Japanese conversational form, but was finding it almost impossible to concentrate. She’d washed her hair, then bathed and towelled, she slipped on a light summer satin Chinese dressing gown she’d purchased several months before at the markets. Using the new brush she stroked her shoulder-length hair until it shone like black silk. She had decided to wear the same light-coloured lipstick she had worn on the very first day she had voluntarily given herself up to the Japanese colonel, the day she had surprised him as he returned home for lunch. But then she remembered the incident with the tabi socks and his fury about incorrect Japanese dress. The lipstick was Western, not Japanese, and Anna decided she would be better without it.

  She tried re
sting, but after ten minutes her anxiety was such that she jumped from the bed to stand by the window that overlooked the garden and the river beyond. The soldier gardeners were busy as usual, and she wondered if they considered themselves privileged in being excused the routines of guard duty and other soldierly chores to work in the beautiful tropical garden. Each morning after Til had dropped her off she would greet them in Japanese and stop in front of one or another of them for a chat, practising her Japanese. They seemed contented, simple men, happy with their gardener’s lot. They also seemed to delight in her progress with their language and three or four of them would come running at the sight of her and gather around. When she answered a question, or asked one with increased confidence and articulation, they would laugh and clap in encouragement.

  Watching them from the window Anna thought that the duty she would be asked to perform that night would be about as far from their imagination as it had once been from hers. She would have liked to have a length of hemp rope in her hands, running it time and time again through her fingers, rehearsing her debut, much as a showjumper might warm up a mount prior to entering an event, or a boxer might shadow-box in his dressing-room prior to entering the ring.

  For four months she had watched Konoe Akira in a quite different manner, studying his movements, trying to envision his naked form through his carefully cut military dress. Was the tailor who had made it compensating for any aspect of his physique? Was he simply skinny? Did he have any muscle tone, tissue that would resist and assist the wrapping of the hemp rope?

  Of course, she wondered about his appendage: was it big or small; how was he hung? She had become so accustomed to the size and the feel of the two suede imitations that she couldn’t imagine any different configuration and would grow panicky at the thought that some aberration might present itself and she’d mess up this most important of all the rope wrapping. So carefully had she been prepared for this night that she did not see herself as performing an act leading to sexual gratification, but simply one that met the stringent requirement of the art of kinbaku. Her relief would come from his satisfaction in her wrapping performance and if, at the conclusion, she possessed some power over him, this wasn’t in the least important to Anna, other than safeguarding the pearl within the oyster.

  And so the endless afternoon eventually passed and at six o’clock Yasuko arrived with dinner on a tray.

  Anna, by this time, had eaten innumerable Japanese dishes and Yasuko was a skilled cook. Anna had passed the stage when most Western palates pronounce that Japanese food all tastes the same, and had become reasonably sophisticated, able to enjoy the subtle differences in texture and taste.

  ‘I have cooked you gyoza and sukiyaki.’ The mayor’s wife put down the tray and pointed to a dish, then clapped her hands happily. ‘Also, chawanmushi!’ she announced proudly. Anna had never tasted this last dish as she had always eaten with Konoe Akira and the steamed egg custard with shrimp was considered a favourite with women.

  ‘Thank you, Yasuko-san. I am humbled by your expertise and elevated by your choice of dishes.’ Anna was too nervous to be hungry and so ate a little from each dish so that Yasuko wouldn’t lose face. Gyoza are small fried dumplings made with meat and vegetables; sukiyaki is a hotpot containing thinly sliced meat pieces, vegetables, tofu and shirataki (noodles), and is eaten after each mouthful has been dipped into raw egg.

  At twenty minutes to eight o’clock Anna, assisted by Yasuko, was dressed and ready, and when finally she added the frangipani blossom to her hair, she stood back to look at herself for the first time in the full-length mirror. But what she saw wasn’t a beautiful woman dressed in a stunning yellow kimono with white obi, but the reflection of a weeping Yasuko with her hands touching her cheeks. ‘Oh, oh, Anna-san,’ the little Japanese woman wept. ‘I am looking at the most beautiful woman I have ever seen!’

  ‘Does that include my big Dutch feet in these ridiculous tabi?’ Anna laughed, then turning, she hugged the mayor’s wife. ‘Thank you, that is a lovely compliment, Yasuko. Now dry your tears; you have to go and prepare green tea for me to take in to Konoe-san.’ Anna’s eyes widened for emphasis. ‘Can you imagine if we are even one minute late?’ A look of terror crossed the mama-san’s face.

  They arrived at the door of Konoe Akira’s rooms. It was one minute to eight when the mayor’s wife handed the tray containing the pot of green tea and yellow cups to Anna. They waited a further thirty seconds, then Yasuko knocked twice and turned, first touching Anna lightly on the shoulder before she hurried away.

  Anna waited and as the big hand of her watch hit the hour the door opened to reveal Konoe Akira. About three metres behind him was a wall composed of light wooden frames with delicate rice-paper panels. The light from the room beyond gave the rice paper a rich and elegant glow.

  The Japanese officer was wearing a yukata, the lightweight summer robe, and bowed, followed by the usual ‘Ho!’

  Anna bowed low in the perfect formal manner while holding a tray. ‘Thank you for your generous welcome, Konoe-san,’ she said in Japan-speak.

  Konoe Akira turned and indicated that she walk to her left where, at the end of the wall, were two sliding shoji screen doors of a wooden grid pattern. Anna was to learn that this was the guest’s entrance, while the host’s entrance was set into the adjoining wall to her far right, so the host could enter from another part of the house. Sliding back the paper and wooden-framed doors to the guest entrance, he permitted Anna to enter, bowing and then turning to move to the far end of the wall and round the corner so he could enter via the host entrance.

  The floor of the room, Anna observed, was made of tatami mats set in wooden frames, each a formal area and in Japanese tradition always of the same size. In this room, reserved for the formality of serving tea, the mat configuration denoted where guests were required to sit while the host always occupied a tatami mat of their own.

  The centre of the room contained a low table of polished dark wood and a single cushion where it was intended Anna would sit. Instead of a cushion for Konoe Akira, placed on the host tatami, directly opposite the table where she sat, was a small stool. Anna immediately understood that this was a concession to tradition because of his stiff leg. Seated, as was customary, on a cushion, he would be unable to rise and would require help to lift him to his feet. The Japanese officer, Anna knew, would perish rather than ask for help of any kind. In the corner to the right of the colonel stood a simple polished glass vase containing a single perfect yellow chrysanthemum.

  Anna, who had been schooled in a simplified version of the Japanese tea ceremony by the two okami-san, proceeded to pour the tea in silence while waiting for her host to speak.

  Konoe Akira remained silent for twenty minutes while drinking his tea, then finally placed the cup on the table, pushing it away from Anna to indicate he required no more. ‘It will be by starlight,’ he said.

  ‘If you wish, Konoe-san,’ Anna replied, secretly relieved. She was nervous about seeing him naked and now her fingertips would be her eyes. She knew that her ultimate fate would be delivered within the next two hours. She was afraid but didn’t panic, trusting that the seventh okami-san had trained her well and knowing that if she hadn’t, then her own fate would be sealed.

  With great difficulty Konoe Akira began the process of rising from his stool. Anna, fearing for his dignity if he should fall, desperately wished to help him to his feet but dared not touch him. In a few minutes her hands would play across his entire naked body as she assessed the requirement of the rope. But now she was forced to remain seated while he struggled, his eyes fierce with determination and his lips pulled tight. She sighed, inwardly relieved when at last he stood. She too rose, ready to bow. Instead her host walked over to the yellow blossom and removed it from the slender vase. ‘Now I shall go to my bedchamber, First Vase,’ he announced, then indicated the host door. ‘Then you must follow in five minutes. I shall place this bloss
om at the doorway to my bedchamber so that you know where to enter.’ He bowed. ‘Ho!’

  Anna returned his bow. She was to learn that the interior of the entire left wing of the brewer’s mansion had been converted into an authentic Japanese house to form the colonel’s private quarters. Yasuko would, of course, have known this, but she’d never mentioned it to Anna. Perhaps, she concluded, it was another of his many ‘forbiddens’.

  After five minutes she left the tea ceremony room and soon enough found the door with the formal yellow chrysanthemum. It had been placed in a duplicate glass vase, the Japanese officer’s sense of perfection unable to allow him to simply abandon it on the heavy teak floorboards that extended to the entrance of the rice-paper doorway.

  Without knocking, Anna entered into a room that contained no furniture except an inbuilt cupboard with sliding doors that was used to store the futon, padded quilt and bean-filled pillow. Now all of these lay in the required format in the centre of the room. The wooden platform, though more carefully made than the one built in her bedroom, was constructed to exactly the same dimensions. It was, as Anna had previously guessed, another concession to Konoe Akira’s stiff leg.

  Anna had long ago realised that Konoe Akira, trained from the very beginning of his military career to exercise command, was a man who thought everything out and left nothing to chance. It would have been his idea to have the platform built in her bedroom. She knew now that if she had been trained by the okami-san to work on the floor, kneeling in the traditional manner instead of learning to adopt a new and slightly different posture, when suddenly confronted by a platform her technique would have been entirely wrong. Anna now saw that beside the platform lay the cotton bag containing the hemp ropes.