by T. Cook
I knelt while Madame’s maid coiffed my hair and painted my cosmetic. It was an ordeal, and when she was finished, I declined even a peek in the glass. I didn’t expect to see myself there, and didn’t wish to become any more self-conscious than I already was, robed head to toe in very fine silk. But I remembered Yoshi’s childhood proclamation: someday, you will dress in the silk you reel. Did he even know what he said? How could he have?
Madame nodded the briefest approval of me before we walked to the street and found a driver to carry us up a winding road to Nobu’s castle. Master Nobu’s domain was among the largest and highest producing domains of the region. As we alighted from our small carriage and gazed up at the grand castle terraced all about in rice fields, I felt grateful at last for my silken robes and opaque cosmetic. They were a disguise behind which I could see so much of what I had wondered about for so long, and I was quite sure Shin would never recognize me, dressed and painted as I was.
I followed Madame Sato up the stairs and through the Shinto gate toward a castle that looked more like a famous temple than a residence. The roof by itself was enormous, tiled in clay and elaborately hipped and gabled with serpents peering wary-eyed below from lofty perches. Broad wooden beams supported deep hanging eaves. It had an otherworldly quality, high atop the mountain and surrounded all around in the lush green of late summer.
I wanted to stare open-mouthed at its expanse, but I lowered my gaze. It was easy to feel humble, but impossible to appear inconspicuous, clad as I was in the green brocade that shone with each new bend of the light.
A servant announced us and we bowed low before our hosts. Lady Nobu received us flanked by three daughters, all finely dressed and impeccably groomed. I averted my gaze, but nearly burst with curiosity. I had imagined what they were like so many times—had even allowed myself to feel jealous of their proximity to Shin. They were, by reputation, very beautiful and accomplished women, and I wanted to know how well they answered the multicolored stories about them, but I kept my face so studiously averted, that I didn’t even once look up until at last Madame introduced me. And I nearly stumbled across the silk carpet in shock and confusion when she did.
“Please meet my only daughter, Fuyuko.”
Heat burned through the powder on my cheeks, and I trained my eyes once again on the floor. What? What had Madame said?
She had claimed I was her only daughter—not her friend, Junko Yamada. Her daughter, who had died only one year prior—a girl who would be a mere seventeen years old and an accomplished musician. How could I be that? What was Madame doing?
Not trusting myself to meet a scrutinizing pair of eyes, I kept mine averted the entire morning. Outwardly, I managed a wooden formality. But inwardly, I fumed at Madame. How dared she do this to me? To make me her young daughter was an outright betrayal of our understanding. It put me off balance and changed my relationship toward everyone. I was no longer the older, spinster friend of Madame Sato. I would suddenly be a peer to Nobu’s daughters. They might expect me to interact with them. They might expect me to play the koto, or know all manner of things a noble’s daughter should know.
Worse, they would think me a noble girl of marriageable age! A busybody matchmaker might make reports of me to other marriageable noblemen. This thought was horrifying to me, and I sat rigid in seiza fuming at Madame Sato, unable to respond or attend to what was being said. I sat paralyzed for too long, and my silence was interpreted as disgust. A servant swept up my tea and replaced it with another cup of a different brew.
Madame stole a quick glance at me, eyes cool, but I read what they said: compose yourself and drink tea as I taught you to take it.
It took everything I had to bring that porcelain cup to my lips. How I tried to train my eyes and ears to a proper focus! How I steeled myself for questioning eyes. How I urged my hands to not tremble, my head not to throb, my heartbeat to steady.
Others were in attendance. I hardly caught the names or faces. A wealthy merchant from the Capital. An artisan weaver of excellent reputation. Another three noble women of some significant fashion. A neighboring samurai’s famous geisha. A Nagaishi Clan samurai—one of the Ruling House’s most formidable enemies prior to unification. (I thought his presence strange, but Madame Sato showed little interest in him.) All were attending a silk festival later that week and all seemed to know each other by reputation if not more personally.
I hardly knew what was discussed. Pleasantries between company. The weather. Talk of expected marriages and anticipated artistic events. Someone expressed interest in hearing one of the Nobu daughters play koto. There was talk of rising artists in relation to silk embroidery and weaving. Here, someone mentioned Madame.
“We look forward to seeing some samples of this season’s fabric,” Lady Nobu said.
“Yes, of course. I have brought some of my favorite pieces. I will show them tomorrow if you like.”
Lady Nobu assented with a graceful sweep of one hand. Then she proposed a walk in the garden.
We followed Lady Nobu out onto a veranda, which circled the house, connecting it with a garden teahouse. A garden pavilion stood next to a lovely koi pond ornamented all around with carved stone lanterns, minutely pruned shrubberies and elaborately combed gravel paths. I had never seen so lovely a garden.
When we entered, I could no longer wonder in what capacity Shin served Master Nobu. Of course, he was here. His presence was everywhere. I saw it in the bonsai, in the cultivation of the herb garden, even in the way he had trimmed the conifer bushes.
“You obviously care more for the garden than the house interior,” came a young female voice at my side.
I started and returned my eyes to my feet. The eldest Nobu daughter had sidled up to me. “Don’t worry. There’s no crime in appreciating a garden. Ours are quite fine, I think.”
“I have hardly ever seen anything so lovely.”
“We have an excellent gardener.”
“Yes, you must have. And you would be rightly proud of his work.”
“Would you like to go have a look at the outer tea house? It has a charming view of the pond and an orchard on its far side.”
I agreed at once.
“Fuyuko, I am Kiyo,” she reminded me, as she gestured to a left-veering footpath. “Your kimono is so exquisite. I have not seen anything quite like it. Do you know the name of the silk weaver?”
I offered a vague shrug. “I cannot say. It is not so fine as what you are wearing.”
Her eyes narrowed slightly and I could tell she didn’t believe me. “Oh, indeed my robe is good enough. But do not suppose you and your mother will be able to keep your silk protégés to yourselves for long. Many people are wondering.”
I shivered at what she said. I had every intention of keeping my weaving a secret, but I saw, too, what Madame’s separate determination had done already to my resolve. What more would I yet reveal? What would Madame reveal for me? We walked on and came to the teahouse planted about with peonies. Kiyo glanced behind her and whispered, “Don’t be uncomfortable, but we are being watched.”
I followed her gaze. “What do you mean?”
“It is my governess. She follows me everywhere I go, even within the house, but especially within the garden.”
“Are you so little trusted?” I bit my tongue as soon as I said it.
Kiyo sniffed. “I’m so highly valued.”
“Of course you are.” I strove to recover. “Mad—Mother leaves me for days, even weeks, at a stretch. But we have so few servants.”
“They are not all to be trusted,” Kiyo said, and her voice was heavy with implied meaning.
“I hope your gardener is above reproach. You said she said she followed you within the garden—and it is so beautiful.”
“Indeed, he is not above reproach. The machi bugyo himself escorted our gardener here to labor on the farm under suspicion of violent crime against a woman.” She watched my face for a trace of impact. I must have gratified her because she fla
shed a satisfied smile.
I shook my head in feigned shock. “Was anything proven?”
“No. And obviously my father doesn’t believe it, or he would never permit the man’s service so close to the house. But he’s a great favorite among the servants…and even among my mother’s friends. They all covet our ‘garden.” she said with a sly glance at me.
She reached for a small bell set up on a table and rang it once. “You will understand in a moment.”
I held my breath as Shin entered the teahouse through a side door and bowed low to Kiyo. He did not seem to know me and realizing this, I breathed my first breath.
“Shin. My honored guest Sato Fuyuko has much praise for your work in the garden,” Kiyo said.
“I am a poor servant,” Shin said, eyes strictly averted. When he betrayed no sign of recognition. I breathed again.
“The cut flowers are dry, Shin. Take a vase and water them.”
I could see Kiyo liked to issue orders, perhaps to all her servants. As he worked, she scrutinized Shin with an intensity that made my spine go rigid.
“When you are finished with the flowers, pour tea. Quickly.”
We watched him perform every instruction with the attention and silence of a petite housemaid. His great rough hands now soft on delicate porcelain. His towering height now bent low in servitude.
I was suddenly aware of Kiyo’s gaze on me. “Oh! But you don’t care for tea,” she said, hand flying to her small mouth. “Shin! Find my guest something less offensive at once.”
“No indeed, I like it,” I insisted.
But Kiyo would not allow me to drink it. “Find something foreign, maybe. My guest has sophisticated taste.”
Shin hastened to produce a chrysanthemum tea to satisfy Kiyo’s command. I did not know how he bore this, but he had always had this unique quality of strength combined with vulnerability.
Finally, Kiyo dismissed Shin with a wave of her hand.
“So you see, he may garden tolerably, but he makes a miserable cup of tea. You cannot have everything, can you?”
“No, indeed. I am sure we would be well pleased to have him—if you are unsatisfied. Our gardens need so much attention,” I hastened to add, “Mother is always saying so.”
“Oh, I don’t think Father would part with the rogue.” She cast me another sly smile. “But I may be able to arrange a private liaison, if you like.”
I almost dropped my cup of tea. Had I been so transparent? “I don’t understand,” I stammered.
“Oh rest assured. No one need know.” Her eyes widened in a show of sincerity.
I detected something false in her assurances, but even with my suspicion, I was tempted and couldn’t decline immediately.
“No? Well, he’s only a servant. I understand. But he has the look of someone highborn, doesn’t he?”
“I do not know.”
“Some people suppose they know, and spread all kinds of rumors about him, saying he is not a nameless slave at all but of the wealthy Nagaishi clan, but I don’t believe a word of it.”
I tried to affect only mild interest, though I’m sure I failed. “What more do they say about him?”
Kiyo winked. “Fuyuko is just like everyone else in our town. People love a scandal and will never let a good one die!”
I swallowed. “Perhaps it isn’t really a scandal at all.”
“Of course it is, and I will not make you beg to hear it.” Kiyo lowered her voice conspiratorially. “They say twenty years ago, the second son of the clan’s leader ran away with a foreign woman of famed beauty. He spent everything he had on her and then died mysteriously before the birth of their child. The family disowned him, of course, but the child seems to appear and disappear and some people believe there is something not quite right about him.”
“What do you mean, ‘not quite right’?”
Kiyo yawned. “That’s where I quit listening. Who would believe stories about mystical abilities and that kind of nonsense?”
I released a nervous laugh. “No one in her right mind.”
“People are so stupid,” Kiyo giggled. “But rumors do make you wonder, don’t they? You are wondering; I can see it in your face!”
The heat rose in my cheeks and I hated myself for it.
“You’re young. Aren’t you but seventeen? That kimono makes you look so much more mature than you are, but no doubt you need some instruction. Think about my offer.”
We returned to the greater house and joined the company soon after, but I couldn’t regain even the appearance of composure.
Somehow, in the process of becoming Madame Sato’s only daughter, Kiyo had come to regard me as a rival—a rival she was already bent upon baiting. And worse, she had found my weakness with the precision and insight of a true mystic.
27
Madame Sato went before me to the bottom of the winding footpath, her tiny geta grinding softly upon the gravel. Even after she stopped at the street, I couldn’t look her in the eye. I didn’t want to lose composure publicly…or in fact anywhere. Having left the farmhouse, I couldn’t vouchsafe our privacy. Our fraud was dangerous enough to make me wary of speaking aloud, even considering my eagerness to confront Madame.
A stiff wind whistled down the mountain, disheveling our careful coiffure. It tugged at our elaborate robes and we struggled to keep neat as we hastened inside the protection of the old inn. With the slam of the shoji doors, I could no longer withhold a hoarse, whispered accusation, “What have you done?”
For a brief moment, Madame’s supreme dignity failed. Her disheveled head hung in shame and she whispered, “Pity me, Furi. Pity me. I am a childless mother who only wanted to see her babies grow up and prosper.”
“I shall pity you, and myself also, when we are discovered. I cannot carry off this deception!”
“Oh, Furi. You are always underestimating your talents. You can carry this off without a tremor if you wish to.”
“And worse, I can no longer trust you, which will be an even greater liability to us.”
“Why not trust me? I will give you everything! Every cent of our earnings. What use do I have for a fortune?”
“You have forced me into a position I despise! And I don’t want your money!”
“What is so wrong with this position? It is powerful. It is full of life and potential!”
“It is full of vulnerability! Already Lady Nobu’s eldest is laying traps for me!”
This silenced Madame, but only for a moment. “I have taught you how to avoid these traps. You are quick. You can evade her with confidence.”
Now it was my turn to be silent, because I had weaknesses Madame Sato knew nothing of.
* * *
Confronting Madame did little good. After all, she had made her move publicly and it couldn’t be taken back. And I will be honest, after seeing Shin, I couldn't even think of running. My only thought was to find a way to speak to him without danger.
Yet, I wondered how I had failed to consider Madame’s motives from the beginning. Too late, I had begun to see some greater strategy at play.
She revealed a fraction of that interest, speaking in whispers, as we soaked together in the mineral bath pool, “No one knows yet the true weaver is you, but everyone is wondering who is behind our fabrics. They expect me to reveal the truth this visit. And so I will.”
I nodded, not of agreement, but of understanding. I would cooperate with Madame’s plan, but only to a point.
“Of course, there will be doubt. I expect someone to test you. Others will request…nay—demand to buy your work or to set you to new requirements. But we can ask for any price. And we will.”
I knew Madame’s asking price would differ from mine, but I was determined mine should be the price honored, and was prepared to out maneuver Madame on this front. I would buy Shin’s freedom, however either of our reputations might suffer in the bargain. Madame would not succeed in effecting her greater scheme if I could help it.
“You will
keep me informed of Kiyo’s attempts to bait you, please,” said Madame.
“Of course,” I agreed. But like Madame had done previously, I lied.
28
Madame brought the familiar obi from her trunk and shook it out before me.
I gasped, “So it was you who bought the hummingbirds!”
“I paid Madame Ozawa dearly for them to be sure,” Madame said, though a smug smile tugged at the corners of her normally discreet little mouth. “You will wear this today—for your triumph!”
“No Madame!” I said. “I will wear the obi, but not today.”
“Today is the day. I have been saving it for this particular moment.”
“No Madame. There will be another triumph,” I said, resisting her. It was too early. Too early for Shin to see it and recognize me. I could not risk that now.
In the end, Madame relented with my promise to wear a kimono that rivaled the first in its beauty. She performed the kitsuke herself.
This time, I paused to view my reflection in the glass. I stared at my image, no longer wondering how Kiyo had taken me for a rival. I had seen ladies wither beside silk’s grandeur. Had seen slight women diminished by the elaborate folds of the heavy obi. Some women, however noble, could not master the dignity of silk. They seemed to pale beside its luster.
I did not.
I knew every thread of my own weaving. Marked every catch of the light on its yardage. Wrapped in its folds, I belonged to it as much as it to me. And it announced and validated my presence with every rustle of movement. Robed in silk’s armor, and perhaps only for that instant, I didn’t feel myself a fraud. I could stand next to any noble. Take tea with any minister. Lift my pale face even to heaven.
I was determined not to appear self-conscious as heads swiveled around me where I walked on the street and up the path to Nobu’s residence. It wasn’t easy. Even Madame—so controlled in her emotions—betrayed a hint of self-satisfaction as Nobu received us with great dignity within his rooms and before his guests.
Following us, three hired servants bore Madame’s chests filled tight with silk. Nobility and prominent silk merchants crowded the room, eager to see the contents of our chests. But Madame did nothing without taking her tea. And this she did with great ceremony. With every tilt of her head, every flick of her wrist, I knew Madame measured the emotional tension within that room.