The Pillow Book of the Flower Samurai (47 page)

‘If the woman had at least one year to respect this man, and did not, the second husband should keep her. Married more than five years, the marriage should be dissolved with no penalty. Less than five years, the new husband should compensate the first.’

How wondrous to be asked my thoughts, to be cared for and considered. The Gods had truly listened to me on the day I had run from Three Eyes’ black horse. I never experienced hunger now or ate boiled-earth soup, although my tongue still remembered the taste. Thanks to you, Earth Gods! And now I had Michimori, a husband, protector and mentor. I studied his handsome face.

Tokikazu continued my martial-arts training with Akio. A priest, skin wrinkled like last year’s peaches, continued my religious education. My lessons frequently included the music of his snoring.

Michimori shared more of his burdens with me as he grew confident of my abilities and knowledge, and I became secure in his respect and trust, taking refreshment in his private rooms. One night he grabbed a paper and shook it in the air towards the west, in the direction of the palace. An unusual display of temper.

‘This is a new edict by the regent!’

I waited until the emotion had left his face. In private, Michimori did not often agree with the decisions his uncles and cousins made.

He glared at the edict, eyebrows down. ‘Now everyone is gathering, like geese to eat.’

‘Does this mean that Retired Emperor Go-Shirakawa, Fox, is renegotiating the Taira lands?’ I touched the back of his clenched hand with my index finger. This was an attack on our Clan. Yes, Taira had become my clan due to my great sympathy for my husband.

He said, ‘There is much honour but little sword among us. It had better change, and soon.’

V. Birth Anniversary and The Coin

Michimori and I formed a single skilled archer with our synchronicity. He educated me in the partisan histories, language and innuendoes. I taught him that someone who bragged of conquests and wealth, yet wore low-quality silk was a liar. The way a head was held, the darting of eyes, the rapidity of blinks yielded information about a speaker’s honesty. Michimori and I conversed and compared notes, our postulations and theories. We blended into better friends than Tashiko and I had been.

I became aware that my feelings for him had changed, and I wrote to him in my much-practised and not-much-improved brush:

Winter chills dissolved

Brown tree limbs against blue sky

Now spring has thawed all

Green growing all around me

Spring’s sun is your countenance

I planned an elaborate celebration for his birth anniversary with food and fine
sake
. It coincided with the Second Day of the Bird, the Kamo Festival, in the Fourth Month. Musicians, dancers, jugglers and players participated, since the massive and country-wide forty-nine-day Funeral Rites for Michimori’s uncle had finished. Multi-coloured hollyhocks bedecked everything: clothes, buildings, houses, carriages and palanquins, while most people’s heads and necks were garlanded.

In the morning we travelled to the palace where the exquisite
bagaku
, the courtly dances, were performed.

‘This is the left style of
bagaku
,’ Tokikazu said, near me as usual.

‘What is the difference between the left and right styles?’ I asked, and Akio leaned forward to listen.

‘The left style is favoured by the emperor, because it originates from China and Dai Viet rather than Koryō and north-east China.’

This meant nothing to me.

At the Hour of the Horse, with the sun directly above us, a great parade twined to the Lower Kamo Shrine. I scoured the packs of priests, all in headscarves or cowls, for the deformed nose that was seared into my mind. The dust bothered Misuki, but not me. Thousands of people and rows upon rows of carriages waited. My hand was wrapped around the handle of my sword, ready to strike.

The string of imperial envoys in elaborate clothing carried the emperor’s gifts to the Gods for Purification and prayer. Tokikazu remained close and conversed with me, studiedly casual. He was in or near my carriage all the time. Which of those veiled monks was Goro? My fingers tightened around an imaginary bow.

After the several days of festivity, I went to Michimori’s chambers as usual. He said, mostly to himself, ‘The imperial envoys brought superior gifts from the emperor this year to Taka-Okami, the Dragon-God-Residing-on-the-Mountain, the God of Rain and Snow. Our western provinces are in drought.’

‘Is that why I see so many farmers in the city?’

‘Yes, we need rain. Badly. My provinces produce little rice.’

Sitting next to him, I wished him a joyous birth anniversary. ‘I have something to say. I have wanted to tell you for some time, but decided to wait for a propitious day.’

He sat up and gazed directly at me. ‘Yes?’ he whispered, in formal language, which honoured me.

‘When I first saw you in Fukuhara, you asked me to tell you what was in my heart. I said that there were admiration, respect, gratitude and . . . fear. That has changed, my honourable lord,’ I answered, also in formal language.

He leaned over and placed my hand across his broad palm. His gaze penetrated my skin. ‘Yes?’ he whispered again. His voice swept me into him.

‘Now there are admiration, respect and gratitude, but no fear. And, further, I . . . There is . . . I have . . . sympathy for you.’

I waited in silence, believing this would please him and because I did not know how he would react. He stood up. Silent.

Had I displeased him with this reminder of my previous feelings? Would he be angry, annoyed or satisfied?

He thrust his large hands around me and lifted me off the floor. Thundering, guffawing, he threw me into the air repeatedly, catching me each time as if I were a pillow. Placing me on the
futon
, he moved closer and loosened my clothing. Holding me, he stroked my face and body, and I did the same for him.

He placed his face against my neck; his tears wet my skin. We looked into each other’s spirits. We pledged devotion, as I had with Tashiko but had long ago given up hope of experiencing again. When we quieted for the night, I presented him with a poem I had written for him with my new brush, which I had practised over and over until it was almost acceptable. With Obāsan’s connections, I had located some beautiful blue paper without him knowing and also enclosed a crane’s feather:

An empty nest waits

The cranes return for each spring

Two fly side by side, Wing edges almost touching

Each knowing the way home

He read it several times, touching my hair with one hand and holding the poem with the other. As he began stroking me, he said quietly, ‘We finally feel the same. When trouble comes to you – and I know it will – allow me to be a full partner in your plans, not simply in the background. My loyal samurai were disguised as servants to Norahito. My fighting iris, you might have been hurt, or worse. My soul could not live, if you were not with me.’

Tears trickled, but I managed to say, ‘Nor I you, my lord.’

Soon my head swirled as his sturdy hands fondled my breasts and hips.

We satisfied each other meticulously, both weeping for rapture.

Every day I recited a
sutra
from the Lotus Sutra to protect Michimori:
atte natte nunatte anado nadi kunadi
.

While I no longer feared him, my new feelings increased my fears for him.

Summer carried harsher droughts throughout the west, with famine and plague. Nonetheless I continued learning from my tutors and in martial arts. I attempted to focus on these activities, not on the horrors of the city.

Crickets shrilled and shrieked on the practice field from midday to evening. Summer was gone. Tokikazu and the other samurai, including Akio, were pleased with my new skills, my bow and sword and sometimes my writing.

Tokikazu approached, almost touching. ‘You are evolving. Near swordlessness with your sword, Kozaishō. What the Chronicles call “the wondrous power to vanish suddenly”.’

Akio stepped closer and scowled at him. Tokikazu strolled away.

The returning wild geese created a dark grey cloud covering the sky when we stopped to take refreshment one day in autumn. Tokikazu and I, at his request, walked far away from the others, although Akio, ever vigilant, monitored us from a distance. With his back to Akio, Tokikazu reached into his quiver. ‘This is for you to keep.’

‘What is it?’ I asked, of the closed fist he held in front of me.

‘It is a rice ball with a Chinese coin in it.’ He lowered his voice, which I thought odd since we were at a distance from others. ‘The Taikan
tsuho
is a coin with a square centre.’

‘Thank you,’ I answered, not understanding the gift, but aware of his feelings for me. I hoped it was not to buy my favours.

He kept enough space between us to satisfy Akio. ‘This is for you to keep. If you ever need me to come to you, send this coin to me, so I will know it is you and not a spy. It will be a signal between us. See? It is marked here on the edge so I will know it and that it is from you only.’

He told me this story:

Two samurai friends betrothed their newborn children. In good faith, the son’s father gave a golden pin to the girl’s father. Mysteriously the son’s entire family soon disappeared without a word.

Seventeen years later the betrothed daughter, still faithful, died from sorrow. The golden pin was buried with her. Two months later, the son returned, telling of his family’s move, their poverty and the deaths of his parents.

The samurai allowed the boy to live in the house near their garden. However, the older daughter had already died. When the samurai family returned from a pilgrimage, their younger daughter dropped something. The boy picked it up, not knowing it was the golden pin.

That night the younger daughter came to the garden house and threatened the boy with dishonour if he did not make love with her. After many nights, the boy found he loved this daughter.

Realising he could not marry because of his betrothal to her older sister, they fled, but after a year, the younger daughter feared for her parents and they returned. The young man approached the samurai to apologise for his sins. The samurai, surprised, explained that the younger daughter was still in their home, deathly ill. She had been sick for year. The young man checked, and the younger daughter was not outside.

Suddenly the younger daughter appeared, in good health, holding the golden pin. She explained that the older sister’s spirit had lived in her for the year to appease her grief. If the boy married the younger sister, the older one would leave and go to her a final rest.

Unbelievable as it was, the golden pin was evidence.

‘So we may meet in the next life. This coin will be our golden hairpin.’ He reached to touch me, then lowered his hand.

‘Thank you,’ I answered, letting the meaning of his words reach my heart. ‘You give much honour. My heart spills with your generosity.’ No one needed to know that a significant event had just taken place.

I returned to Michimori and the others, working with the spear in a far-off corner of the fields. ‘As you may be aware, my dear Kozaishō, Michimori was not allowed to go to Echigo Province, where he would certainly have been of much help.’ Tokikazu continued the conversation in which we were supposed to have been engaged.

‘Yes. He was upset, so frustrated. I thought he would thrash the walls.’

‘That will be why he attacked the straw men for so long. He covered a whole field with straw before he had finished.’

I looked at Tokikazu in discomfort. We both cared for Michimori deeply. We did not speak of the new Taira leader, Purple Grass, who lacked subtlety and knowledge of strategy. I doubted he had ever read
The Art of War
.

‘Our staunch ally, Jō no Sukenaga, was killed in battle with the Minamoto Rat.’

‘It is difficult to believe Rat and his army have not only been in many provinces but as far north as Echigo.’

‘That is why I gave you the coin.’

Rokuhara was like an ancient animal shelter, every corner filled with spiders and flies. When I returned to my rooms, I did not know if I was the spider or the fly. I did not know if a bell remained where it was left, or whether everything had become a web, ready to catch any of us if we lapsed into the slightest inattention.