Shōgun

by James Clavell

  “How do you like your new name, child?”

  “Oh, very much, very much. I’m honored, Mother-sama!”

  The name meant “Little Blossom”—as Kiku meant “Chrysanthemum”—and Gyoko had given it to her on the first day. “I’m your mother now,” Gyoko had told her kindly but firmly when she paid the price and took possession, marveling that such a potential beauty could come out of such crude fisherfolk as the rotund Tamasaki woman. After four days of intense bargaining, she had paid a koban for the child’s services until the age of twenty, enough to feed the Tamasaki family for two years. “Fetch me some cha, then my comb and some fragrant tea leaves to take the saké off my breath.”

  “Yes, Mother-sama.” She rushed off blindly, breathlessly, anxious to please, and collided into Kiku’s gossamer skirts at the doorway.

  “Oh, oh, oh, so sorryyyy …”

  “You must be careful, Hana-chan.”

  “So sorry, so sorry, Elder Sister …” Hana-chan was almost in tears.

  “Why are you sad, Little Blossom? There, there,” Kiku said, brushing away the tears tenderly. “We put away sadness in this house. Remember, we of the Willow World, we never need sadness, child, for what good would that do? Sadness never pleases. Our duty is to please and to be gay. Run along, child, but gently, gently, be graceful.” Kiku turned and showed herself to the older woman, her smile radiant. “Does this please you, Mistress-san?”

  Blackthorne looked at her and muttered, “Hallelujah!”

  “This is Kiku-san,” Mariko said formally, elated by Blackthorne’s reaction.

  The girl came into the room with a swish of silk and knelt and bowed and said something Blackthorne did not catch.

  “She says that you are welcome, that you honor this house.”

  “Domo,” he said.

  “Do itashemasite. Saké, Anjin-san?” Kiku said.

  “Hai, domo.”

  He watched her perfect hands find the flask unerringly, make sure the temperature was correct, then pour into the cup that he lifted toward her, as Mariko had shown him, with more grace than he thought possible.

  “You promise you will behave like a Japanese, truly?” Mariko had asked as they set out from the fortress, she riding the palanquin, he walking beside, down the track that curled to the village and to the square that fronted the sea. Torchbearers strode ahead and behind. Ten samurai accompanied them as an honor guard.

  “I’ll try, yes,” Blackthorne said. “What do I have to do?”

  “The first thing you must do is to forget what you have to do and merely remember that this night is only for your pleasure.”

  Today has been the best day of my life, he was thinking. And tonight—what about tonight? He was excited by the challenge and determined to try to be Japanese and enjoy everything and not be embarrassed.

  “What—what does the evening—well—cost?” he had asked.

  “That’s very un-Japanese, Anjin-san,” she had chided him. “What has that to do with anything? Fujiko-san agreed that the arrangement was satisfactory.”

  He had seen Fujiko before he left. The doctor had visited her and had changed the bandages and given her herb medicines. She was proud of the honors and new fief and had rattled on nicely, showing no pain, glad that he was going to the Tea House—of course, Mariko-san had consulted her and everything had been arranged, how good Mariko-san was! How sorry she was to have the burns so that she couldn’t make the arrangements for him herself. He had touched Fujiko’s hand before he left, liking her. She had thanked him and apologized again, and sent him on his way hoping that he would have a wonderful evening.

  Gyoko and maids had been waiting ceremoniously at the gate of the Tea House to greet them.

  “This is Gyoko-san, she’s the Mama-san here.”

  “So honored, Anjin-san, so honored.”

  “Mama-san? You mean mama? Mother? That’s the same in English, Mariko-san. Mama—mommy—mother.”

  “Oh! It’s almost the same, but, so sorry, ‘mama-san’ just means ‘stepmother’ or ‘foster parent,’ Anjin-san. Mother is ‘haha-san’ or ‘oba-san.’”

  In a moment Gyoko excused herself and hurried away. Blackthorne smiled at Mariko. She had been like a child, gazing at everything. “Oh, Anjin-san, I’ve always wanted to see the inside of one of these places. Men are so very lucky! Isn’t it beautiful? Isn’t it marvelous, even in a tiny village? Gyoko-san must have had it refurbished completely by master craftsmen! Look at the quality of the woods and—oh, you’re so kind to allow me to be with you. I’ll never have another opportunity … look at the flowers … what an exquisite arrangement … and oh, look out into the garden….”

  Blackthorne was very glad and very sorry that a maid was in the room and the shoji door open, for even here in a tea house it would be unthinkable and lethal for Mariko to be alone with him in a room.

  “Thou art beautiful,” he said in Latin.

  “And thou.” Her face was dancing. “I am very proud of thee, Admiral of Ships. And Fujiko—oh, she was so proud she could hardly lie still!”

  “Her burns seemed bad.”

  “Have no fear. The doctors are well practiced and she is young and strong and confident. Tonight put everything from thy mind. No more questions about Ishido or Ikawa Jikkyu, or battles or codewords or fiefs or ships. Tonight no cares—tonight only magic things for thee.”

  “Thou art magic for me.”

  She fluttered her fan and poured the wine and said nothing. He watched her, then they smiled together. “Because others are here and tongues wag, we must still be cautious. But oh, I am so happy for thee,” she said.

  “Thou. What was the other reason? You said there was another reason you wanted me to be here tonight?”

  “Ah yes, the other reason.” The same heavy perfume drifted around him. “It is an ancient custom we have, Anjin-san. When a lady who belongs to someone else cares for another man, and wishes to give him something of consequence that it is forbidden to give, then she will arrange for another to take her place—a gift—the most perfect courtesan that she can afford.”

  “You said ‘when a lady cares for someone else.’ Do you mean ‘love’?”

  “Yes. But only for tonight.”

  “Thou.”

  “Thou, Anjin-san.”

  “Why tonight, Mariko-san, why not before?”

  “Tonight is a magic night and kami walk with us. I desire thee.”

  Then Kiku was at the doorway. “Hallelujah!” And he was welcomed and served saké.

  “How do I say that the Lady’s especially pretty?”

  Mariko told him and he repeated the words. The girl laughed gaily, accepted the compliment, and returned it.

  “Kiku-san asks if you would like her to sing or dance for you.”

  “What is thy preference?”

  “This Lady is here for thy pleasure, samurai, not mine.”

  “And thou? Thou art here also for my pleasure?”

  “Yes, in a way—in a very private way.”

  “Then please ask her to sing.”

  Kiku clapped her hands gently and Ako brought the samisen. It was long, shaped something like a guitar, and three-stringed. Ako set it in position on the floor and gave the ivory plectrum to Kiku.

  Kiku said, “Lady Toda, please tell our honored guest that first I will sing ‘The Song of the Dragonfly.’”

  “Kiku-san, I would be honored if tonight, here, you would call me Mariko-san.”

  “You are too kind to me, Madam. Please excuse me. I could not possibly be so impolite.”

  “Please.”

  “I will if it pleases you, though….” Her smile was lovely. “Thank you, Mariko-sama.”

  She strummed a chord. From the moment that the guests had walked through the gateway into her world, all her senses had been tuned. She had secretly watched them while they were with Gyoko-san and when they were alone, searching for any clue how to pleasure him or to impress the Lady Toda.

  She had not bee
n prepared for what soon became obvious: clearly the Anjin-san desired the Lady Toda, though he hid it as well as any civilized person could hide it. This in itself was not surprising, for the Lady Toda was most beautiful and accomplished and, most important, she alone could talk with him. What astounded her was that she was certain the Lady Toda desired him equally, if not more.

  The barbarian samurai and the Lady samurai, patrician daughter of the assassin Akechi Jinsai, wife of Lord Buntaro! Eeeee! Poor man, poor woman. So sad. Surely this must end in tragedy.

  Kiku felt near to tears as she thought of the sadness of life, the unfairness. Oh, how I wish I were born samurai and not a peasant so that I could become even a consort to Omi-sama, not just a temporary toy. I would gladly give my hope of rebirth in return for that.

  Put away sadness. Give pleasure, that is your duty.

  Her fingers strummed a second chord, a chord filled with melancholy. Then she noticed that though Mariko was beguiled by her music the Anjin-san was not.

  Why? Kiku knew that it was not her playing, for she was sure that it was almost perfect. Such mastery as hers was given to few.

  A third, more beautiful chord, experimentally. There’s no doubt, she told herself hastily, it doesn’t please him. She allowed the chord to die away and began to sing unaccompanied, her voice soaring with the sudden changes of tempo that took years to perfect. Again Mariko was entranced, he was not, so at once Kiku stopped. “Tonight is not for music or singing,” she announced. “Tonight is for happiness. Mariko-san, how do I say, ‘please excuse me’ in his language?”

  “Per favor.”

  “Per favor, Anjin-san, tonight we must laugh only, neh?”

  “Domo, Kiku-san. Hai.”

  “It’s difficult to entertain without words, but not impossible, neh? Ah, I know!” She jumped up and began to do comic pantomimes—daimyo, kaga-man, fisherman, hawker, pompous samurai, even an old farmer collecting a full pail—and she did them all so well and so humorously that soon Mariko and Blackthorne were laughing and clapping. Then she held up her hand. Mischievously she began to mimic a man peeing, holding himself or missing, grabbing, searching for the insignificant or weighed down by the incredible, through all the stages of his life, beginning first as a child just wetting the bed and howling, to a young man in a hurry, to another having to hold back, another with size, another with smallness to the point of “where has it gone,” and at length to a very old man groaning in ecstasy at being able to pee at all.

  Kiku bowed to their applause and sipped cha, patting the sheen from her forehead. She noticed that he was easing his shoulders and back. “Oh, per favor, senhor!” and she knelt behind him and began to massage his neck.

  Her knowing fingers instantly found the pleasure points. “Oh God, that’s… hai … just there!”

  She did as he asked. “Your neck will be better soon. Too much sitting, Anjin-san!”

  “That very good, Kiku-san. Make Suwo almost bad!”

  “Ah, thank you. Mariko-san, the Anjin-san’s shoulders are so vast, would you help me? Just do his left shoulder while I do his right? So sorry, but hands are not strong enough.”

  Mariko allowed herself to be persuaded and did as she was asked. Kiku hid her smile as she felt him tighten under Mariko’s fingers and she was very pleased with her improvisations. Now the client was being pleasured through her artistry and knowledge, and being maneuvered as he should be maneuvered.

  “Is that better, Anjin-san?”

  “Good, very good, thank you.”

  “Oh, you’re very welcome. It’s my pleasure. But the Lady Toda is so much more deft than I.” Kiku could feel the attraction between them though they tried to conceal it. “Now a little food perhaps?” It came at once.

  “For you, Anjin-san,” she said proudly. The dish contained a small pheasant, cut into tiny pieces, barbecued over charcoal with a sweet soya sauce. She helped him.

  “It delicious, delicious,” he said. And it was.

  “Mariko-san?”

  “Thank you.” Mariko took a token piece but did not eat it.

  Kiku took a fragment in her chopsticks and chewed it with relish. “It’s good, neh?”

  “No, Kiku-san, it very good! Very good.”

  “Please, Anjin-san, have some more.” She took a second morsel. “There’s plenty.”

  “Thank you. Please. How did—how this?” He pointed to the thick brown sauce.

  Mariko interpreted for her. “Kiku says it’s sugar and soya with a little ginger. She asks do you have sugar and soya in your country?”

  “Sugar in beet, yes, soya no, Kiku-san.”

  “Oh! How can one live without soya?” Kiku became solemn. “Please tell the Anjin-san that we have had sugar here since one thousand years. The Buddhist monk Ganjin brought it to us from China. All our best things have come from China, Anjin-san. Cha came to us about five hundred years ago. The Buddhist monk Eisai brought some seeds and planted them in Chikuzen Province, where I was born. He also brought us Zen Buddhism.”

  Mariko translated with equal formality, then Kiku let out a peal of laughter. “Oh so sorry, Mariko-sama, but you both looked so grave. I was just pretending to be solemn about cha—as if it mattered! It was only to amuse you.”

  They watched Blackthorne finish the pheasant. “Good,” he said. “Very good. Please thank Gyoko-san.”

  “She will be honored.” Kiku poured more saké for both of them. Then, knowing it was time, she said innocently, “May I ask what happened today at the earthquake? I hear the Anjin-san saved the life of Lord Toranaga? I would consider it an honor to know firsthand.”

  She settled back patiently, letting Blackthorne and Mariko enjoy the telling, adding an “oh,” or “what happened then?” or pouring saké never interrupting, being the perfect listener.

  And, when they finished, Kiku marveled at their bravery and at Lord Toranaga’s good fortune. They talked for a while, then Blackthorne got up and the maid was told to show him the way.

  Mariko broke a silence. “You’ve never eaten meat before, Kiku-san, have you?”

  “It is my duty to do whatever I can to please him, for just a little while, neh?”

  “I never knew how perfect a lady could be. I understand now why there must always be a Floating World, a Willow World, and how lucky men are, how inadequate I am.”

  “Oh, that was never my purpose, never, Mariko-sama. And not our purpose. We are here only to please, for a fleeting moment.”

  “Yes. I just meant I admire you so much. I would like you for my sister.”

  Kiku bowed. “I would not be worthy of that honor.” There was warmth between them. Then she said, “This is a very secret place and everyone is to be trusted, there are no prying eyes. The pleasure room in the garden is very dark if one wants it dark. And darkness keeps all secrets.”

  “The only way to keep a secret is to be alone and whisper it down an empty well at high noon, neh?” Mariko said lightly, needing time to decide.

  “Between sisters there’s no need for wells. I have dismissed my maid until the dawn. Our pleasure room is a very private place.”

  “There you must be alone with him.”

  “I can always be alone, always.”

  “You’re so kind to me, Kiku-chan, so very thoughtful.”

  “It is a magic night, neh? And very special.”

  “Magic nights end too soon, Little Sister. Magic nights are for children, neh? I am not a child.”

  “Who knows what happens on a magic night? Darkness contains everything.”

  Mariko shook her head sadly and touched her tenderly. “Yes. But for him, if it contained you that would be everything.”

  Kiku let the matter rest. Then she said, “I am a gift to the Anjin-san? He did not ask for me himself?”

  “If he had seen you, how could he not ask for you? Truthfully, it’s his honor that you welcome him. I understand that now.”

  “But he did see me once, Mariko-san. I was with Omi-san when he passed on
his way to the ship to go to Osaka the first time.”

  “Oh, but the Anjin-san said that he saw Midori-san with Omi-san. It was you? Beside the palanquin?”

  “Yes, in the square. Oh yes, it was me, Mariko-san, not the Lady, the wife of Omi-sama. He said ‘konnichi wa’ to me. But of course, he would not remember. How could he remember? That was during a previous life, neh?”

  “Oh, he remembered her—the beautiful girl with the green parasol. He said the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. He told me about her many times.” Mariko studied her even more closely. “Yes, Kiku-san, you could easily be mistaken for her on such a day, under a parasol.”

  Kiku poured saké and Mariko was entranced by her unconscious elegance. “My parasol was sea green,” she said, very pleased that he had remembered.

  “How did the Anjin-san look then? Very different? The Night of the Screams must have been terrible.”

  “Yes, yes it was. And he was older then, the skin of his face stretched…. But we become too serious, Elder Sister. Ah, you don’t know how honored I am to be allowed to call you that. Tonight is a night of pleasure only. No more seriousness, neh?”

  “Yes. I agree. Please forgive me.”

  “Now, to more practical matters, would you please give me some advice?”

  “Anything,” Mariko said, as friendly.

  “In this matter of the pillow, do people of his nation prefer any instruments or positions that you are aware of? So sorry to ask, but perhaps you might be able to guide me.”

  It took all of Mariko’s training to remain unabashed. “No, not that I know. The Anjin-san is very sensitive about anything to do with pillowing.”

  “Could he be asked in an oblique way?”

  “I don’t think you can ask a foreign person like that. Certainly not the Anjin-san. And—so sorry, I don’t know what the, er, instruments are—except, of course, a harigata.”

  “Ah!” Again Kiku’s intuition guided her and she asked artlessly, “Would you care to see them? I could show them all to you, perhaps with him there, then he need not be asked. We can see from his reaction.”