The Pillow Book of the Flower Samurai (21 page)

‘Not only because of the omens at Proprietor Chiba’s. The Goddess of Mercy came in a dream. She said I am to be a samurai.’

‘She did?’

I related the details of the dream to him.

‘The Goddess of Mercy brought you all those samurai implements in your dream? Naturally we must go on.’ Akio leaned over and put his hands on his knees. ‘We will vary our meeting times. Do not come here by the same route every day.’

‘Hitomi will not beat me because I bring in more profit than any other Woman-for-Play. Beating me loses her revenue.’

Akio straightened. ‘Little one, if you trample on Madam Hitomi’s pride, or Rin’s, you may find Hitomi’s pride is stronger than yours. And contempt is not part of the Way.’

My neck warmed with his rebuke. ‘Yes, honourable Akio. I will take precautions.’

‘The laws of
karma
are perfect.’ He sighed with a morning-quail sound and adjusted the position of my wrist nearer the bow. ‘I am eager for
karma
to visit Proprietor Chiba.’

I glanced up at Akio and saw his grin. I smiled too. With a thought of swift
inago
, an image of Chiba stood in front of my target, his big belly almost blocking it. My arrows struck him in the heart. Each time. By now I had graduated from the novice target,
makiwara
, to the smaller and much further away
mato
, which all samurai used.

Time passed like the snap of a fan. Summer again, and my two younger sisters had worked through the Village of Outcasts’ hierarchy.

Over our dinner Tashiko mumbled, ‘Misuki and Emi are going to be Women-for-Play. I am anxious for Emi.’

‘We have to stop it. Emi is still a little girl in her mind.’

‘Kozaishō, if the master orders me to do something, I do it. That is the only honourable way.’

I put down my bowl and chopsticks. ‘Is it not honourable to save someone from the daily defilements of our life?’

‘Not if that is their
karma
.’

‘
Karma! Inago!
’ I clenched my fists. ‘You would allow harm to come to an innocent? That is honourable?’ I pointed my finger at Tashiko. ‘Are we not to use the strengths given us?’

‘Yes – I suppose so.’ She turned to me.

‘Are we not to use these gifts with compassion and mercy?’ I stood, fists to my sides.

‘Yes, but . . .’

I crossed my arms and leaned my face lower. ‘What is the “but”?’

‘Well . . .’ She lowered her eyes down.

‘Is it honourable to allow someone to suffer if we can use our gifts to avoid that suffering?’

‘Perhaps—’

‘In the Lotus Sutra? The monk interfered.’ I told the story:

‘A man vowed to build a temple if he came home safely from combat. When he escaped harm, he went to the capital to exchange his belongings for gold and paints and reached the port of Naniwa. A seaman was selling four big turtles, and the man advised people to buy them and set them free. Then he rented a boat to cross the sea. Late at night the sailors, filled with greed, said, “Into the sea with you!” The man tried to reason with them, but they would not listen. Finally, after making a vow, he sank into the black waters. When the water came up to his waist, he felt stones under his feet. In the morning he found he was carried by the turtles. They left him on the beach after nodding to him three times. The turtles, which had been set free, came back to repay his kindness. Eventually the thieving sailors visited his temple to sell the gold and paints they had stolen from him. They were petrified with terror when they saw him. He did not punish them, but told them to make a Buddha image to be consecrated in the pagoda.

‘Even an animal does not forget gratitude, and repays an act of kindness. How, then, could a righteous man fail to be grateful?’

Tashiko merely nodded.

‘The monk interfered. We could interfere.’ I sat beside her. ‘We
should
interfere.’ I stabbed my chopsticks into my rice, knowing it was not good luck.

Tashiko lifted her hand to me and took my chopsticks out of the rice. ‘What can we do?’

‘A story. A story might make Emi unsuitable to be a Woman-for-Play.’

‘A story?’ She pulled her hair away from her neck and twisted it with her fingers. ‘Change Emi’s
karma
? Go against Madam Hitomi? That is too great a risk.’

‘Do you want Emi servicing men? What if Aya had to do it too?’

‘No.’ She grimaced. ‘But a story? Something so simple could not change Emi’s
karma
.’

‘No. A story cannot change
karma
, but a story can change what people do and how they react.’

‘True. Your stories have soothed arguments.’ Tashiko rubbed my cheek with the back of her hand.

‘I checked through my stories and consulted with our tutor. The
oni
is perfect. This story will do for Emi. First, let us share our plan with those we trust.’

‘No, Kozaishō.’ Her hand flattened against my arm. ‘The fewer people who know the better,’

‘What about Misuki?’

Tashiko nodded.

‘Let you and me and Misuki be less productive. Slow down. Have more trouble with clothes and hair. Only a little. Not enough to arouse suspicion. When I tell Hitomi we need Emi for clothes and hair, our argument will be more convincing.’

‘We can do that.’ Tashiko’s full lips twitched up.

‘No.
I
can do it. This is too dangerous.
I
will tell the story. You should not be involved.’

‘Emi is one of us. Chiba and Goro’s cast-offs.’ Tashiko gathered my hands in hers. ‘We are in this together, Kozaishō.’

‘Alright, but Hitomi’s wrath will be immense. She will not appreciate losing someone she has purchased.’

Tashiko dipped her head to one side, committing to the plan.

Beyond the bathhouse, away from everyone else, I told the story to Emi with Tashiko and Misuki.

There once was an
oni
who captured a daughter, but her mother rescued her. The mother and daughter spotted a boat and escaped from the
oni
by travelling in the river. The
oni
came and drank all the water in the river in one gulp. The boat stuck in the mud and mire. As the
oni
approached, the horrified women prayed to the Goddess of Mercy.

The Goddess called on the mother and daughter to put their kimonos over their heads. At the sight of the women’s nakedness, the
oni
roared with laughter. All the water spouted out of his mouth. The
oni
did not stop laughing until the boat had carried the women to safety. Since that moment on the river, every time they undressed, they remembered the
oni
’s roar and their miraculous escape, and laughed and laughed and laughed.

I hurled my kimonos over my head. Tashiko did the same. She laughed. I heard her fall down, and continue her hawk-like guffaws.

Emi did not laugh. Tashiko gave me an I-did-not-think-this would-work look, but I persisted.

I repeated the story, encouraging Emi to her pull her kimonos over her head. Tashiko and I pretended to laugh. The third time, Emi giggled. By the fifth time, she giggled more. I told her the story until Tashiko grew weary, and I was glad that it was short.

I needed to ensure that my plan worked. Tashiko and I located the adjoining room where Emi was going. It contained only the required watching-hole, a few pillows and a small basket for wiping cloths. I checked to see no clients hid already, as some desired, and posted myself.

Emi and her first customer walked in, a portly man. I eased my legs on to the pillows.

‘So, Emi, this is your first time.’ He patted her on the shoulder and smiled. ‘Come here. We shall go slowly.’

Emi turned her pretty face and crossed eyes up to him and smiled back. My shoulder and arm stung, prickling all over. I adjusted my position on the pillows.

The man slipped off his outer robe, threw it on to the clothing-tree, and plopped on to the
futon
. His awkwardness reminded me of Chiba.

‘Sit beside me, here.’ He patted the spot next to him with one hand and, with the other, made beckoning gestures.

She did so. The man placed a wide wobbly arm around Emi’s shoulders. ‘Let us take off your kimono.’

With that, he loosened her sash.

I held my breath.

‘Pull it off, Emi.’

Emi tugged at her sash. She looked up questioningly, the sash hanging across her hands like a dead snake.

‘Good, Emi. Now remove your kimono.’

My fingernails almost cut through the pillow’s fabric.

Emi drew aside the front of her kimono. The man licked his tongue across his upper lip.

Emi laughed. She didn’t giggle. She roared, booming from her belly.

The man’s face transformed to a big red chrysanthemum. His ears and scalp turned bright red too.

I waited, clamping my jaws, fearing the man’s response.

Emi’s laughter went on and on.

The man’s skin remained reddened as he stared at Emi.

He put his head into his hands.

Turning his back to me, he stood up and pulled his robes off the clothing-tree.

When I could see his face, his mouth was trembling, hands clenched at his sides.

I would not let him hit her. The story had been to protect her against hurt. I stood up, bending over to look through the watching-hole but ready to rescue her.

The man chuckled.

I sighed.

‘Perhaps another time.’ He ruffled the hair on top of Emi’s head and pinched her cheek. He left the room, sniggering.

I breathed again.

My story had worked, but now Emi would answer to Hitomi. I stole out of the room to tell Tashiko.

Later that day, Hitomi put Emi with a second customer and I hid again. This taller man was, muscular, with a long moustache and beard. He was no amicable uncle.

He entered, and she followed. ‘Help me take off my robe.’ His voice was flat as he turned his back to her. In my hand I clutched a small pillow, already shredded.

Emi tugged at his robe without removing his sash first. She found it and her fingers fumbled. The man bent his head. ‘Here, let me show you.’

He flung the brown brocade outer robe on to the clothing-tree, like a shroud.

My fingers knotted to stop my stomach flying into my throat.

‘Your name is Emi?’ His voice was lower now, soft words and soft sounds like the hissing of an angry monkey.

‘Yes, honourable sir.’

‘Good.’ He sounded harsh, irritated.

I prayed to all the Gods.

‘Take off your robe.’

I bit my lip.

Emi lay back on the
futon
and melted into laughter, giggling and tittering. Her legs wriggled like those of the three-year-old she was inside. He waited. She persisted. He sat up, dressed. A brown mountain smouldering with the reds and oranges of a sunset, he glowered at Emi and stormed out of the hut.

I raced to Tashiko. We had to go to Main House.

Hitomi sent for Emi. Tashiko and I accompanied her. I prayed to the Goddess of Mercy to sway Hitomi. I could not allow Emi to suffer for something I had caused. I prepared myself to take the consequences, thinking of the cold rice broth.

Emi entered Main House first.

Everyone heard her cries.

Next it was our turn.

Hitomi rose from the pillows and pointed a finger at us, a cat leaping off her. ‘You two again! She says
you
told her a story!’

I sat back on my heels. ‘Yes, Madam Hitomi, I did. My idea. My story. Alone.’

Tashiko remained in five-point.

Hitomi harrumphed, returned to her pillows, sat high above us. Her nostrils flared open and shut. A cat curled next to her. She scratched behind its ears. It purred loudly, like the swell of rapid river water after a storm.

That sound gave me an idea. ‘Honourable Madam Hitomi, may I speak?’

She said, ‘Yes,’ accentuated with silent daggers.

‘I know of . . .

‘. . . a farmer’s cat that did not catch any mice. This farmer feared losing his grain. He was so worried, he could not sleep. His lack of sleep disrupted his concentration, and he cut his foot badly. The healer directed him to stay in bed for two days. Now the farmer worried more than ever and slept even less, until the cat curled up next to him and purred so loudly that the farmer fell into a deep sleep. The cat came back each night and helped the farmer sleep.’

All this time the cat purred. Hitomi’s face calmed to the surface of a pond on a windless day.

‘Honourable one, Emi can be like that cat. She
is
quite slow, yet everything has a useful purpose. She works well in the laundry and can assist Tashiko and me.’

Hitomi’s hand stopped scratching, and the cat stopped purring. ‘I do not believe she is
that
slow.’

‘Oh, honourable Madam Hitomi, Emi needs months to learn a simple dance. I know, because I had the honour to teach her at the
sh
ō
en
of the honourable Chiba no Tashiyori.’

Hitomi’s hand flapped at me, and the cat nipped her.

Tashiko sat on her heels and murmured, with her head down, ‘Emi cannot play an instrument.’

‘She has been here only a short time, not long enough to learn the
biwa
.’ Hitomi rubbed her hand where the cat had left marks.

‘She cannot rouge her lips – the sides are always crooked.’ I worked to keep my face blank but was pleased that the cat had wounded Hitomi. I wished I could have clamped my teeth into her.

‘She is adorable.’ Hitomi reached for another cat.

‘Her talents are with hair and flowers,’ Tashiko muttered, with her head up.

‘Honourable One, as unsuccessful as Emi can be, she would cheapen the reputation of Madam Hitomi’s women. If she attended us, we could service more clients. We could work faster.’ I raised my eyebrows, indicating an anticipated growth in her profits.

‘Not much good at serving clients now . . .’ Tashiko grunted, before I could stop her.

‘Honourable Madam Hitomi, I will gladly share my food with Emi, if that is a consideration.’

Hitomi gathered another cat. It settled itself against her hip. ‘Emi will receive a beating, naturally. Temporarily, she will work with Aya in the early mornings and with you in the Hours of the Sheep, the Monkey and the Cock.’