The Pillow Book of the Flower Samurai (7 page)

She seemed pleased at this, so I was happy.

Almost every night I dreamed of practising with my samurai or riding a horse – bundled within a strong warm arm.

In my mind I decided to become a samurai. In my spirit, I was one already.

BOOK 3

I. Omens

After the first month my tasks were fewer, because I had to learn and practise the dances and to sing songs. Otherwise I studied the samurai, regardless of the weather, but always concealed myself from them.

When the samurai gestured, I imitated them. Sometimes I pretended to be the Great Protector wielding power. More often I became the magnificent Pink Flower, who in my mind had also become a samurai, although sometimes I played at being the Sun Goddess, about whom Tashiko told stories when she bathed me:

As Izanagi purified himself in the stream, a God or Goddess was born from each part of him. The Sun Goddess was born from his left eye. Susanowo, the Storm God, was born from Izanagi’s nose. When He decided to travel to heaven, the Sun Goddess gathered her weapons, put on her masculine fearlessness, and uttered a forceful roar of resistance.

At a distance from the samurai, I gathered my weapon-sticks and roared like the Sun Goddess. I studied the samurai’s daily rituals beyond the bathhouse and vegetable gardens – there, I would often eat a sweet daikon radish or whatever I could find – always hoping to see my samurai, hoping to spend a moment with someone I imagined I could trust.

The samurai held each object up to the Sun Goddess. They bowed to each other before and after each fight, and, just as I had imitated my father and brothers, I imitated them: I grunted when they grunted; I thrust my arms out as they practised with their swords; when they moved, I moved. I sent imaginary arrows. Best of all, when I was alone, no one could trick me.

They rode, and I mounted my tree-branch horse to ride too. Once I fell and scraped my leg with the sharp end of a branch. I bit my tongue, covering my mouth with my sleeve as Tashiko had showed me. When I stood up my large samurai was beside me. I bowed, hoping he would speak to me. He did not and returned to his practice.

I hungered for more contact and continued hiding behind trees or bushes, following the samurai’s actions, ever seeking my samurai. I moved closer, thinking I could not be seen – I must have been: one cold morning I saw my samurai motioning for me to come nearer. I stepped away from the bush and was warmed by his friendly eyes. My lips would not stop smiling. At that moment a white pheasant flew from behind the bush across the practice field.

He saw the bird and walked over to me. My heart beat as if it were threshing grain before early rain. Would he say something? Standing up, I brushed off my new smock – bright green with black, and embroidered autumn trees – bowed low, waited and hoped. His armour was laced with silk knots, all deep blue and red.

‘Hello, little one.’ He bent over, his hands on his knees.

He was speaking to me.

‘Did you see that bird?’ He pointed towards at the pheasant. ‘A lucky omen.’

I had not known this.

‘You have come to observe the great raging spirit of Susanowo, the Storm God?’ He tilted his face down to mine. ‘We follow the Great Impetuous Deity.’ He smiled and held his long sword flat in front of his thick body, with tanned, wide-fingered hands. His dark brown topknot stired in the breeze, bringing smells to me of men’s sweat and grass.

‘I will tell you the story I tell my children.’

‘Susanowo, the great Storm God saved a couple’s eighth daughter, who was to be sacrificed to an eight-headed dragon the next day. The great Storm God placed a large
sake
barrel in front of each of the dragon’s sleeping heads. When the dragon awoke, each head drank the
sake
until the creature was quite drunk.’

All this he showed me, walking lopsided, wagging his head, crossing his eyes. I covered my mouth with my sleeve to laugh.

He became serious.

‘Susanowo slew the dragon, cutting off each of its eight heads. When Susanowo cut open the dragon, he found the Sacred Sword in its tail.’

He lifted his beautiful sword for me to see, and grinned.

For a few moments. I thought about his story. ‘If that is how the sword was discovered, what did the Storm God use to cut off the dragon’s heads?’ I had thought the Sacred Sword the first sword ever.

The samurai chuckled. Then he barked, his head hung over his body and his chest heaving. With every yelp of laughter I grew smaller, my temper bigger.

His head was so low I could see only his hair and the sparse brown of his eyebrows, I thought those eyebrows ugly. I wanted to shave them off. I was sorry I’d spoken with him. How could he betray me like this?

He chortled until the other samurai stopped their practise. I breathed heavily. He was not a brother I could fight. He was not a sister whose hair I could wrench.

They all listened to him laughing and, when he did not stop, they walked up to us. I looked up at my samurai, hoping he would stop. There had been nothing funny in my question. By the time all the samurai were around him, he was still chuckling, unable to talk. I wanted to run away or hit something. I wanted to hit him, yet I dared not.

The tallest samurai wore green silk sewn through his armour, which was of white silk decorated with dark and light blue chevrons. He grabbed my samurai’s arm. There was a grinding noise as their shoulders scraped. I jumped. I searched their armour, wondering how it could make that sound.

‘Akio, what disturbs your meditative practice?’ the tallest one asked.

‘She asked what the Storm God used to kill the dragon, if not a sword.’

The tall one nodded and grinned, his long black beard, with white threads, bobbing up and down.

The rest of the samurai were cackling now. It was worse than it had been at home. All these strangers were making fun of me. Akio chortled again. I stood there, helpless, tight fists and lips. I thought about jerking their topknots, pulling out their hair, kicking them in the stomach – after they had taken off their armour. I knew of nothing that could kill a dragon but a sword.

When the laughter stopped, the tall one patted my head. I wanted to bite his hand. Not a good idea. That would not make Father proud.

‘What is your name?’

‘Kozaishō, Master.’ I bowed, rigid and small – resentments had stiffened my entire body.

‘There is no need for ill temper, Kozaishō,’ he whispered to me. ‘We do not laugh at you. We laugh at our own assumptions.’

I did not know what that meant, and remained silent. At least he had said that they were not laughing at me. At what were they laughing?

‘What do you do here, Kozaishō?’ the tall one asked.

‘I live in Lesser House.’ I pointed.

Akio glanced at the tall one with eyes I did not understand. I bowed, and the wind blew across the field. Large clouds formed in the clear sky, taking the shape of a huge dragon.

‘Akio,’ Master Isamu, the tall one, shouted. All the samurai turned. ‘Kozaishō has brought an omen of good fortune.’

‘Master Isamu, if I may be permitted to speak?’

The older man’s eyes turned to Akio.

‘When I first spoke to Kozaishō today, a white pheasant came out of those trees and flew on to this field.’

If they were omens of good fortune, would I be sent home? Would Proprietor Chiba stop hitting me?

‘So, Kozaishō brings two different omens of good luck.’ Master Isamu announced again. He raised his voice to the gathered samurai: ‘Kozaishō must be welcomed here at any time.’

After that, he spoke quietly to me: ‘Come. Akio will take you to a safe place to watch us. I will ask permission for you to join us, but until then, you may observe as your . . . duties allow.’

‘You can visit us, little one,’ whispered Akio. I could not help but smile when I bowed to him. ‘You are special, Kozaishō. As special to me as my own girls.’

Later I learned about the many swords in the world. The Sacred Sword, encrusted with jewels, was special and different from any practice sword. He told me more about Cloud Cluster – the name of the Sacred Sword found in the dragon’s tail. I never understood, though, why they had laughed so much.

II. The Practice of Omens

My family had measured time by harvests and seasons. People counted time differently at Proprietor Chiba’s
sh
ō
en
. There, the day was divided into animals’ names. Tashiko told me the story of the hours:

Once upon a time, the Emperor of Jade declared to all of the animals that he would name only twelve for the names of the years and the hours of each day. The twelve animals who arrived before him first would protect the people for one year. All of the animals wanted to be chosen. Alas, the cat was too excited and forgot what day it was. He asked his friend the rat, but the rat saw a chance to be rid of a rival and gave the wrong day. The day before, the robust ox decided to leave early, knowing he walked slowly. The rat hopped on to the ox to take advantage of the ride. The ox thought he would be first, but before he entered the Heavenly Palace, the rat jumped off his head and arrived first, with the ox behind him. The energetic tiger, king of the animals, reached the Heavenly Palace next. Then the serene hare, the mighty dragon, the wily snake, the forceful horse, the passive sheep, the clever monkey, the orderly cockerel, the trust worthy and loyal dog and, finally the persistent pig. The next morning, the cat came to the Heavenly Palace, delighted to be first. The guard told him to go home, wake up earlier next time and wash his face. Ever since, the cat and the rat have been enemies.

Next day, I leaped out of bed at the Hour of the Snake before the new summer sun had peeped above the ground.

‘Are you in a hurry?’ Tashiko asked, half asleep. We now slept together on the
futon
.

‘Today,’ I hugged her, ‘I am invited to watch the samurai. I must finish my tasks before I can go.’

Tashiko laughed, ruffling my thick hair. ‘I shall hurry to dress you and comb this bird’s nest.’

The samurai were already at the fields. I had never been out so early. I saw some boys, too.

The samurai and the boys performed a slow dance in pairs. I did my best to follow their slow dance, the complex yet exciting movements, as I watched from a short distance away.

The next day, there was no visit from Proprietor Chiba.

Tashiko answered the question in my eyes: ‘Konjin, God of Directions, forced him to stay inside Big House today.’ She smiled. That meant she planned a visit to the temple after she had completed her tasks. Today she would be pleasant. My stomach relaxed.

‘Who is Konjin? What is a God of Directions?’ I could ask questions when she was in this mood.

‘The nobles, the fancies, study how the Gods of Directions are going to be safe.’

‘Safe?’

Tashiko sighed. ‘Twenty-four gods, twenty-four directions. When a direction will be harmful, a fancy cannot go that way. Once Proprietor Chiba had to travel to another
sh
ō
en
. He stayed there for a month.’

She scowled, then looked down and her eyes filled. I placed my hand on her shoulder, and she shook it off, wiped her eyes and went to the temple.