Gai-Jin (62 page)

“No, it is my pleasure,”
she said, long over her wonder and embarrassment at the strange habits of the foreigners: that they rarely bathed, were usually consumed with shame and guilt over pillow pleasures, were astoundingly possessive and usually furious that she had other clients—stupid, what were they but clients?—or turning away, blushing, when she was undressing for their enjoyment, or covering themselves when only half
naked, preferring to fornicate in the dark when everyone knew much of the thrill was to see, examine and observe, or were embarrassed purple when she attempted normal variations to prevent boredom and to prolong and increase Moments with the Gods—the time of the Clouds and the Rain.

No, gai-jin aren’t like us. They almost always favor First Position with Urgency, occasionally Baiting the Hen or Cherry Blossom Time, so allowing me no opportunity to demonstrate my skills, or when, in the light, I would position myself to play with the One-Eyed Monk the many games of uplifting such as Near and Far, Over the Dragon, Springtime Planting, Stealing the Honey that even the most unpracticed youth would require and appreciate, a gai-jin would jerk away, firmly but gently pull me up alongside him, kiss my neck, hold tight and mumble incomprehensibles.

She murmured,
“Now I’ll massage you to sleep.”

“Don’t understand. Mess’erge?”

“Massage, Taira-san. Like this.”

“Ah, now I understand. Massage, thank you.”

Her fingers were gentle and wonderful and he drifted away, hardly believing his luck, proud of his performance and that she had ecstatically finished three times at least to his once—and never mind that Raiko had said that tomorrow Fujiko had to visit her village, near Yedo, to see her sick grandfather,
“… but only for a few days, Taira-san.”

“Oh, so sorry, Raiko-san. Please, how many day ’way?”

“How many days will she be away? Only three.”

“Ah, thank you. How many days will she be away?”
Tyrer repeated—he had asked her and Fujiko, always to correct him.

Three days. That will give me time to recover. My God, that was the best. Wonder what will happen when the
roju
get our dispatch. I’m sure my advice’s correct and that Nakama is telling the truth—God, I’ve a lot to thank him for, Sir William was positively beaming, and as for Fujiko …

Lulled by her touch, his mind began a jumble of Nakama and her and being in Japan and everything so different and learning Japanese, incessant words and phrases leaping forward untidily. The futons were hard and difficult to get used to but he was comfortable, lying on his stomach, enjoying her nearness. God, but I’m tired. Can’t stand the idea of “other clients,” he thought. Got to make her mine, just mine. Tomorrow I’ll ask André to help me.

Without turning he reached back, put his hand on her thigh. Lovely silky skin.

Where was I? Oh yes, the
roju
. We’ll give the buggers what-for. Bloody awful about the mail ship being fired on—we’ve just got to make Shimonoseki safe and if the bloody Bakufu won’t do it that means taking out those batteries ourselves. Must remember to be careful about that with Nakama, mustn’t forget he’s from Choshu too. Could I use him as a go between?

And if the
roju
won’t deal with those Satsuma devils we’ll have to crush them ourselves. The bloody effrontery of the daimyo saying that he can’t find Canterbury’s murderers, the bastards came out of his own ranks for God’s sake, I saw them hack off Canterbury’s arm and the blood sprayed …

Her fingers froze.
“What’s the matter, Taira-san?”

Before he knew it he was hugging her, wanting to block out the Tokaidō, and then, when the trembling had stopped he lay back, pulling her with him and held on to her, the warm pliant length of her against him, loving her, so thankful to be with her, waiting for the bad to return to its recess.

She lay quiet, also waiting, not thinking about him except that once more gai-jin proved to be curious indeed, beyond understanding. It was comfortable resting against him and she was glad that the first explosion had been achieved properly, that the client was satisfied, so she could safely believe she had earned her extra fee.

When Raiko was assigning all their appointments this morning, the mama-san had told her she was putting up her rate: “With Taira, only, because you will have extra work. Remember he could be a big fish for you, Fujiko, a long-term patron much better than Kant-er-bury-san if we’re careful and if you please him. Frenchy tells me he’s an important official so strive hard to please him. Only speak Japanese, no pidgin, become a teacher, encourage him, and remember he is ridiculously shy and knows nothing and never mention Kant-er-bury. We will pretend you have to go away for a few days—but do not worry, I have two clients for you tomorrow, in the afternoon a gai-jin, a civilized person at night…. ”

With a generous patron for a year or two I could quickly pay off my debts, and life would be much better than having to take whatever client was available, she thought, then contentedly abandoned the present as she always tried to do when with a client, projecting herself into the future where she lived happily with her rich farmer husband and four or five sons. She could see their farmhouse amid their many rice fields, abundant with green shoots of winter or spring plantings, promising another rich harvest, her mother-in-law kind and pleased with her, a bullock or two tethered to a plow, flowers in the little garden and …

“Ah, Fujiko. Thank you, you are wonderful!”

She nestled closer and said how strong and manly he was.

“What?”
he asked sleepily. One of her hands answered intimately and he twisted.
“No, Fujiko, please, first sleep. No … please, later …”

“Ah, but a strong man like you …”
she murmured, hid her boredom, and continued dutifully.

* * *

Ori yawned and took his eye away from the spy hole. “I’ve seen enough,” he whispered. “Shocking.”

“I agree.” Hiraga kept his voice down too. “Terrible. Fujiko’s performance was the worst I’ve ever seen.
Baka!”

“If I was Taira I would demand my money back.”

“I agree.
Baka!
She won’t have him ready for hours and as for him … only First Position once and talk about urgency! Ten thrusts and poof, Over the Moon like a duck.”

Ori had to hold his hand over his mouth to stop the laughter, then carefully he stuck little pieces of paper to cover the holes they had made in the far corner of the shoji screen. Together they slipped away into the bushes, through the secret gate in the fence, and thence to Ori’s dwelling.

“Saké!”

Half asleep the maid set the tray in front of them, poured and shuffled away, still finding it difficult not to stare at their heads. They toasted each other and refilled the cups, the room small and pleasant, candle-lit, with bed futons already made up in the adjoining room. Swords were on low lacquer racks—Raiko had bent the Yoshiwara rule forbidding weapons within the walls because they were shishi, because of Hiraga’s portrait and because both had sworn by
sonno-joi
not to use the weapons against anyone in the House, or any guest, and only in defense.

“I cannot believe Taira was taken in by her faked Moment with the Gods, Hiraga, one after another like that! Her acting was terrible. Is he that stupid?”

“Obviously.” Hiraga laughed and rubbed the back and sides of his head vigorously. “Eeee, with that sized weapon he should have really made her squeal—are all gai-jin built like that?”

“Who cares—in his case it is wasted.”

“No finesse, Ori! Perhaps I should get him a pillow book like a virgin bride, eh?”

“Better we kill him and them and fire the Settlement.”

“Be patient, we will, there is plenty of time.”

“He is a perfect target, it is another perfect opportunity,” Ori said, an edge creeping into his voice.

Hiraga watched him, all warmth gone of a sudden. “Yes, but not now, he’s too important.”

“You said yourself if we could infuriate them enough they’d bombard Yedo and that would be wonderful for our cause.”

“Yes, you are right, but we have time.” Hiraga showed none of his concern, appeasing him, wanting him controlled. “Taira is answering all my questions. For instance, no one told us gai-jin fight each other like wild dogs, worse than daimyos before Toranaga—the Dutch hid that from us, eh?”

“They are all liars and barbarians.”

“Yes, but there must be hundreds of bits of information like that, that will unlock the way to play them, and dominate them. We must learn everything, Ori, and then, when we’re part of the new Bakufu, we will set German against Russian against Frenchman against Ing’erish against American …”

Hiraga shivered, remembering the little Tyrer had told him about that civil war, the battles and casualties, all the modern weapons and hundreds of thousands of armed men involved, and the unbelievable vastness of the gai-jin lands. “This evening he said the Inger’ish Navy rules the world oceans, that by their law is twice as big as the next two navies combined, with hundreds of men-o’-war, thousands of cannon.”

“Lies. Exaggeration to frighten you. He and all of them want us cowed, you as much as any. He wants our secrets too!”

“I only give him what I think he should know.” Hiraga belched irritably. “Ori, we’ve got to learn about them! These dogs have conquered most of the world—humbled China and burned Peking, and this year the French became overlords of Cochin-China and are set to colonize Cambodia.”

“Yes, but the French played native prince against native prince like the British in India. This is Japan. We’re different—this is the Land of the Gods. With all the cannon in the world they will never conquer us.” Ori’s face twisted strangely. “Even if they seduce some daimyos to their side, even then, the rest of us will slaughter them.”

“Not without cannon and knowledge.”

“Without cannon, yes, Hiraga-san.”

Hiraga shrugged and poured for both of them. There were many shishi who shared Ori’s zeal—and had forgotten Sun-tzu:
Know your enemy as you know yourself and you will win a hundred battles
. “I hope you are right, meanwhile I will find out as much as I can. Tomorrow he promised to let me look at a map of the world—he called it an ‘at’ras.’”

“How do you know it will not be false, made up?”

“That is not likely, not falsifying one. Perhaps I could even get a copy, we could have it translated—and some of their schoolbooks.” Hiraga’s excitement picked up. “Taira said they have new skills in counting, taught in ordinary schools, and astronomy measurers called
’rong-tit-tude, ’ra-tit-ude,”
Hiraga pronounced the English words with difficulty, “that somehow guide them with fantastic accuracy on the oceans, a thousand
ri
from land.
Baka
that I know so little!
Baka
that I cannot read English!”

“You will,” Ori said. “I never will. You will be part of our new government—I never will.”

“Why say that?”

“I worship
sonno-joi
, I have already thought of my death poem, and spoken it. I told it to Shorin, the night of the attack.
Baka
that he got himself
killed too soon.” Ori drained his cup and poured the last drops and ordered a new flask. He looked at Hiraga narrowly. “I heard your Lord Ogama will pardon any Choshu shishi who publicly forswears
sonno-joi.”

Hiraga nodded. “My father wrote to me about that. It means nothing to us—to Choshu shishi.”

“There is a rumor that Ogama controls the Gates, excluding everyone else—even that there’s new fighting between his troops and Satsumas.”

“Many daimyos are misguided, from time to time,” Hiraga said levelly, not liking the way the conversation was going, noticing that, in his cups, Ori was ever more quarrelsome. Tonight Raiko had again warned him that Ori was a smoking volcano. “We all agreed long ago not to be bound by the deeds or misdeeds of our hereditary leaders.”

“If Ogama holds the Gates he could give back power to the Emperor and make
sonno-joi
a fact.”

“Perhaps he will, perhaps he has already.”

Ori drained the cup. “I will be glad to leave Yokohama. Poison is in the air. Better you come to Kyōto with me. This nest of liars may infect you.”

“You will be safer on the road to Kyōto without me. Even without my hair I could be recognized.”

A sudden gust tugged at the roof thatch and rattled a half-opened shutter. They glanced at it momentarily, then went back to drinking. The saké had loosened them but had not dispelled the undercurrents, thoughts of death and the net tightening around them, or of the planned ambush of Shōgun Nobusada, of Shorin and Sumomo, and most of all,
what about the gai-jin girl?
Hiraga had not yet mentioned her nor had Ori yet asked about her but both were waiting, both circling this central issue, both impatient and still undecided.

Ori broke the silence. “When Akimoto arrives tomorrow how much are you going to tell him?”

“Everything we know. He will travel to Kyōto with you.”

“No, better he stays, you will need a fighter here.”

“Why?”

Again Ori shrugged. “Two are better than one. Now,” he said flatly, “tell me where she is.”

Hiraga described the place. Exactly. “There were no bars on the windows or side door I could see.” All day he had been wondering what to do about Ori—if Ori broke into the house and killed her, whether he lived or died, the whole Settlement would be in an uproar and their venom would first turn on every Japanese within reach. “I agree she is a correct target for
sonno-joi
but not yet, not while I am accepted by them and learning so many of their secrets.”

“Such a perfect target should be dealt with at once. Katsumata said to hesitate is to lose. We can get those secrets out of books.”

“I have already said: I do not agree.”

“At the same time I kill her we fire the Yoshiwara and thus the Settlement, the three of us, and retreat in the confusion. We do it two days from now.”

“No.”

“I say yes! Two or three days, no more!”