The Private Papers of Eastern Jewel

by Maureen Lindley

  I had always taken great care to avoid conception by inserting a small sponge into my vagina before each encounter. After lovemaking I would put a tube inside myself and wash with a disinfectant made by steeping locust leaves in boiled water. Sorry said that all the concubines she had known had used this method when they couldn't face another birth. She added that it only worked if the gods were willing. In my experience the gods are rarely willing. Their purpose is about erecting barriers, mine has always been to demolish them and that is what I set about doing.

  I sent Sorry to the herb doctor in the Chinese market to buy me a liquor that would expel the seed from my womb. She returned with a bile-green concoction, which against expectation tasted sweet as if flavoured with rhubarb. The herbalist said that if it was to work it would do so within six hours, otherwise something more powerful would be required. After the time had elapsed with no result except an excessive amount of stomach pain, Sorry tried a recipe of her own. She remembered hearing about it in my father's household when two young concubines became pregnant at the same time. The more devious of the two, wishing her child to take precedence over the other, boiled a copper band in water and as the mixture cooled added two drops of snake venom. She sweetened the mixture with honeyed tea and served it to her opponent. The copper would expel the child, the venom still its heart. Thus the job would be twice done.

  'Did it work, Sorry?' I asked. 'Yes, mistress,' she replied, 'they say it is foolproof.'

  The herbalist agreed with Sorry that it was indeed a good recipe but warned it should only be one drop of venom. 'Two will surely kill the mother too,' he said. The price for the venom would be high, the copper band, which should be green, he would throw in for good will.

  Sorry boiled the brew until only an inch of liquid remained. Then as the water cooled she carefully dropped the venom in, making sure not to spill any of the precious fluid. I gulped the sticky serum down followed by a cup of sweet pomegranate juice to erase its bitterness. For two days I vomited up a hateful glue while the seed remained embedded in my womb.

  Days passed and I devised a plan that involved telling Natsuko that I was pregnant, and persuading her to help me with a more scientific abortion. I knew that in a house that thrived on secrets, without her on my side, I had little chance of keeping Kawashima ignorant of my plight.

  I would be taking a huge chance confiding in her. She hated me and would delight in having me banished from her home, so I had to find a way to secure her silence as well as her help. I was risking everything, relying on my belief that I understood Natsuko's nature better than she did herself, but I had no choice and besides, the jeopardy of the situation thrilled me.

  On the day I went to her I dressed carefully in a black kimono with a dark blue obi sash. In Japan wearing black is said to be the sign of a moral person and I did not wish to annoy Natsuko with my usual attire. I powdered my face pale and attempted to disguise the provocative pink of my lips by staining them with asparagus juice. I wanted to convey the impression of humility and regret. Natsuko looked surprised to see me in so modest an outfit and was intrigued when I said I had come for her help. At first she was full of joy at my news: at last there was a way to be rid of me for good. But when I told her that the child was Kawashima's her face drained of colour and she gave a little moan. There was a long silence as she worked out what this would mean to her own life. The fear that her hated adopted daughter might bear her husband a child, perhaps even a son, was more than she could bear. She asked me how I could possibly be sure that it was Kawashima's child. I told her that not only did Sorry keep a record of my bleeds but that for some months Kawashima, being infatuated with me, had kept me entirely to himself. I said there was no question that the child would be born with the same strawberry birthmark that stained all of Kawashima's offspring.

  Natsuko shuddered at the thought of the distinguishing pigment adorning any child not born of her; I could tell by the way her body slumped in the chair that she believed me. She struggled for a long time with the choice of helping me or telling her husband. But in the end I think she could not bear a child of Kawashima's born from my womb to live in the same world as her own children. And so for once, and for a brief time only, Natsuko became my ally.

  Between us we made a plan that would take place during Kawashima's next trip to Osaka. The visits to his geisha were as frequent as ever and Natsuko was consumed with jealousy that both at home and abroad her husband chose other women's beds over her own. It is a fallacy that Japanese women are happy for their husbands to own geishas. They are the same as women the world over and cannot bear rivals. She may have been able to bear more easily the convention that he kept a geisha, but that in her own home he chose my bed tore her heart to shreds.

  It was agreed that Natsuko would tell her doctor that she had a favourite servant who she wished to keep about her. The foolish girl had become pregnant by a man who was not free to marry her and wished to rid herself of the baby. If she had the child she could not work and would surely starve, a fate Natsuko would like to save her from. Of course, Natsuko did not expect such a distinguished man as Doctor Mura himself to perform the operation, but if he could suggest someone she would be eternally grateful. She told him that her husband would be furious if he found out and she feared the girl would be flogged half to death, so secrecy was of great importance. Doctor Mura said that although the girl probably should be flogged for behaving like a Tokyo street cat while under the care of such a fine mistress, he understood that Natsuko was acting from a kind heart and approved of her feminine tenderness. He recommended a recently qualified young man from the suburbs, and assured Natsuko that she could rely on his discretion.

  A few hours after Kawashima had left for Osaka, Sorry set a dried sea horse over the door as a charm against evil. She burnt orange incense to invigorate the air and made me sip strong black tea. When the doctor who would not tell me his name arrived, I noted that he was neither young nor, I suspect, from the suburbs. As he leaned over me I could smell his sweat, which was as unpleasant as his breath. He smelled sour, as though he never washed, which was peculiar as even in the meanest of circumstances the Japanese are a clean race. I took it as a bad sign that he did not wash his hands before beginning even though Sorry had brought him a bowl of steaming water and clean linen towels. It was a bad sign too that he called for saki and only removed the cheap local cigarettes that he chain-smoked from his mouth to drink deep drafts of it.

  To distance me from the pain, Sorry talked to me throughout the brutal procedure, reminding me of favourite poems and episodes from childhood. I bit into a cushion so that my cries would not give me away to the household. Just as I felt that I could not bear his exploration of my womb for one more minute, the nameless doctor finished, quickly rinsed his hands in the cooling water and, without a word to me, left the room.

  Days of fever and bleeding clotted blood followed and in their wake came an infection that made me delirious for a week. I remember being conscious twice in that time, once when the sky was grey and then again when it was the pale gold of evening and the crows were in flight.

  The inept doctor called once to check on my progress. He said that I would be well in ten days but that the infection had left me sterile. I would never again be with child, which he considered the practical bonus of his butchery.

  Natsuko could not disguise a hiss of satisfaction at such welcome news. As for me, I would never be a mother, never nurture an infant or experience the friendship of a daughter or the support of a son. Before this time I had not consciously desired motherhood but the fact that it was now denied me seemed shocking.

  With her customary parsimony Natsuko left me to settle the doctor's account. Sorry was heartbroken on my behalf and fussed around me with broths and strengthening foods. She said that with each new wound another layer thickens our carapace and strengthens our defences. In time all traces of the deed were removed, and I tried to remove myself from it too. But in sleep my mind went its
own way and I suffered a recurring dream that disturbed me so much that I began to fear sleep. In this dream I would watch myself from a distance looking into a mirror that was marked with age and seemed to be running with water. Although there were people around only I was reflected in the silvery glass, and as I gazed at myself I knew without doubt that it was a stranger looking back at me, a stranger of whom I was afraid.

  The week that I lay recovering from my abortion, Tokyo was hit by a massive earthquake of such force that after the last tremor had faded every family knew someone who was a victim of the catastrophe. We were lucky to live so close to the commercial centre as it was one of the few areas left standing. Our gas supply was severed and we returned to candlelight and charcoal burners. I liked the mysterious quality the soft light lent to the house, which reminded me of my early years in China when I would lie in my mother's bed watching her braid her blue-black hair.

  Natsuko believed that we were saved from the fury of the earthquake by the gold fish in our carp pool. She said they were of an unusually bright hue and were very lucky. 'Tokyo will never be as beautiful again,' she said sadly.

  I could hear more than the pain of the loss of the city in her voice, see beyond the tears in her tea-black eyes. I know that Natsuko felt that she was powerless in her life, that she had suffered too much loss to ever regain the happiness of her youth. I wanted to tell her that she still had the power to choose where to love, that she could choose me. But as always when faced with Natsuko, I never spoke the words I wanted to; I was as locked in my nature as she was in hers.

  How quickly things can change. One minute the landscape you know is there, the next it is gone. Kawashima, arriving back from Osaka after the earth's revolt, said that he felt that he had come to an alien city.

  Once again Tokyo began to recreate itself with buildings to match the progress that electricity had brought. There was a buzz of energy in the air and everywhere you looked modern structures were going up.

  A new breed of young woman seemed to have emerged too, secretaries, shop girls, beauticians and dressmakers who made cheap copies of popular western styles. Young women were needed to staff the hotels and business houses of the remodelled city. They came enthusiastically from their rigidly traditional homes to the equally strict conventions of the workplace. I think I envied them a little, although it has to be admitted that a princess seeks a different sort of freedom to that of a secretary or a shop girl.

  At the beginning of the winter of 1924, when I was eighteen years old, Kawashima sent the young officer Yamaga to me and I discovered what it was to fall in love.

  Yamaga's skin was the colour of copper, his eyes clear and unclouded, his lips as firm as apples. He was tender and arrogant in equal measure and it was not always easy to please him. I was half afraid of him yet I could not stop myself from loving everything about him. I adored the strength of his coarse dark hair, the uneven gap between his teeth, the way his uniform smelt of the black Russian tobacco he smoked. That bittersweet scent has the power to stir me to this day. I both loved and feared the churning feeling in my stomach that came whenever I saw him, a combination of elation and dread. I loved too the way he called me Yoshi and the way he danced me around, pulling me to him before kissing my lips or my hair. His touch emptied me of common sense.

  For the first time in my life I loved someone more than myself and although it was unsettling, it intoxicated me and kept my blood singing. I could not eat and did not sleep much, but when I did I dreamt of little else but of making love with Yamaga.

  Sometimes we would lie together the whole night without making love, just holding each other and talking and sleeping. I think that I felt more loved on those nights than I ever had before, and more confident of his love. He never brought me gifts and it could often be weeks before he visited again yet I always believed that he would return to my rooms. I excused his long absences. I told myself that building a military career took time, and I was convinced that his dedication to his profession would carry him to the top. We were alike, he and I, and I believed that his feelings for me were as strong as mine were for him.

  I told Kawashima that I did not want him to send me anyone but Yamaga. He shrugged his shoulders and said that I would soon tire of the boy and that he himself would find it no hardship. I was insulted by his indifference, as despite wanting only Yamaga my body missed the habit of my stepfather's cruel lovemaking, and I was surprised that he did not care about losing mine.

  It was always a celebration when Yamaga came. He usually stayed the whole night, giving us time to eat and bathe together, to tell each other the stories of our lives and to laugh at the rest of the world. We made love and ate the good food that Sorry brought us, always apologising for her intrusion. We played cards for money and sometimes we fenced a little dangerously. Yamaga liked to win, it was important to him and, apart from myself, I have never since met anyone so competitive.

  Those nights we shared were precious to me and I could not bear to waste them in sleep. I would watch Yamaga as he slept and delight in his even breathing. In an agony of love I would wake him with kisses and cry when he made love to me, so different was it to anything I had ever experienced before.

  It seemed that the gods had at last smiled on me and sent the most beautiful and brave man in all of Japan to accompany me through life. There is nothing more splendid than a Japanese man at the peak of his powers. With my rich dowry and unusual beauty I thought that I would be as good a catch for him as he was for me. Freedom was no longer my aim. To be with Yamaga was all I desired. Marriage to him would be no sacrifice; he was a modern man, we would be equals. I liked the idea of choosing my own husband and decided that I would declare my love to him and suggest that he ask Kawashima to give me to him in marriage. After all, Kawashima had sent him to me and that must mean Yamaga had influence and was a person to be indulged.

  On the day I proposed to Yamaga I woke in the dying dawn to the muffled sounds of the servants going about the house. Above the city the sky, a white vault streaked with pink, housed a solitary hunting hawk. It was cold, with a trail of snow in the air. I sensed that this was the day that Yamaga would come and even though I knew it would not be until nightfall, I was full of the disquiet of longing. Sorry served me a breakfast of persimmons steeped in honey, and a bowl of golden tea. I was too restless to eat, but I drank the tea and smoked two Turkish cigarettes. I went to the market and tried to occupy myself but I could not think straight and bought neroli oil instead of the rose one I wanted to scent my rooms. Neroli is too astringent a fragrance for lovemaking, while the soft musk of rose oil is perfect. The day passed slowly, as it will when every second is counted, and by dusk I was aching for Yamaga.

  Before dark I began to dress, choosing a deep-blue under­kimono of silk, embroidered with a border of white clover and red poppies. I took great care with my appearance, brushing my skin with pumice and sweetening my breath with liquorice wood. I softened my body with a peppery chrysanthemum oil that made my skin glow and hung Natsuko's black pearl between my breasts. At last Yamaga came, brushing the snow from the shoulders of his uniform, his hands stiff with cold. I sent Sorry scurrying to bring a foot warmer while I served him a shot of sake to heat his blood.

  Our first lovemaking that night was passionate but over quickly, leaving us breathless and laughing at our haste. Later we shared a bath so hot that it made me dizzy. Yamaga bathed me, lathering my breasts with a green soap that smelt of ferns. His hands were firm and confident and as I mounted him in the water he pulled me close. I clasped my feet behind his buttocks and he moaned with pleasure. We fitted so well together, as perfectly as the carving that old man Teshima had given me on my fifteenth birthday.

  Sex with Yamaga was unlike any that I had experienced before. Lips on lips, tongue on tongue, our arms around each other, our appetites equal, I could find no fault in him. I felt complete, a new experience for me, as usually after lovemaking I was ready for the next lover to fill the void that h
ad previously accompanied me through life. I didn't doubt for one moment that Yamaga was as eager to spend his life with me as I was to spend mine with him. When he told me that I was so special that the world had only space for one Yoshiko, my confidence that he would agree to our marrying could not have been higher.

  We ate a supper of chicken and peppers and marvelled at how delicious food always tasted after lovemaking. I fed Yamaga the almonds preserved in salt that he loved and we shared one of my Turkish cigarettes. He always laughed when I smoked, saying that women smoking looked wrong somehow, like monkeys swimming.

  I thought briefly that I might tell him of the abortion and grieve with him over what had become in my mind our joint loss, but we were so happy that I could not bear to spoil things. Against reason, I told myself that doctors are not always right and that women have a great capacity to heal. For once in my life I looked to the gods to shower me with luck and to so repair my past that it might never have been.

  That night, as we lay together in my rosewood bed, I suggested that we should begin the plans for our marriage. Yamaga must go to Kawashima and formally ask for his permission. I spoke of my large dowry and joked that he would be getting a princess from a noble family, and I would be getting a soldier who would one day be a great Japanese hero. We would have a successful and wonderful life together in the new Japan.

  Yamaga's body tensed and he rolled away from me and left the bed. There was a long, confusing silence only broken when he gave a short embarrassed laugh.

  'You must know, Yoshi, that Kawashima would never agree to a marriage between us. It would be pointless to ask him,' he said.

  'No, he will agree,' I cried. 'He cannot keep me here for ever, he must choose a husband for me, so why should it not be you, Yamaga? He admires you and desires your friendship. Why else would he have sent you to me?'