She unfurled her fan and flapped it imperiously at the mosquitoes whining around their heads. Okatsu, Taka’s maid, slid silently across on her knees, pushing the mosquito burner closer. The sharp sweet smell of smouldering chrysanthemum petals tickled Taka’s nostrils. Fujino smoothed her skirts impatiently.
‘Don’t you want to know about your husband-to-be? He’s a very attractive proposition.’ Her face was stern still but there was a dimple puckering her plump cheek. ‘He’s Mr Shimada’s adopted son and chosen heir, no less,’ she cooed. ‘Mr Hashimoto confided that he’s said to be a genius – a banking genius. He’s working with Mr Shibusawa at the moment, helping him develop a western-style banking system here. His name is Hachibei Masuda.’ She leaned forward, a gleam in her eye. ‘Mr Hashimoto assures me he’ll be worth many thousands of yen – even millions – in years to come.’
Taka scowled. Fujino was using her most honeyed tones, as if seducing a particularly intransigent customer; but Taka was not a customer, nor was she seduced. How could her mother imagine that any self-respecting samurai daughter would be impressed with a man who soiled his hands with money? She knew geishas saw things differently, geishas liked money – though she’d always thought her mother, at least, was above such things. And times had changed, she had to keep reminding herself of that.
She wondered if that was the problem. Her father had been away for nearly three years now and she didn’t know how her mother managed to continue to support the household. She’d always assumed her father’s stipend covered all the bills but she wasn’t sure. Maybe that was why Fujino was so eager to make an alliance with a wealthy family?
‘And how can it be that such a desirable young man is still available?’ Fujino flashed her disconcertingly white teeth. ‘You may well ask. The answer is because he’s been abroad, studying in America. He only came back a few days ago. And what do you think he needs now? A wife, of course, from among his own people. Naturally only the best will do, so they’ve come to us. I’ve been waiting and waiting for the perfect proposal, Taka, and this is it. You’re to be mistress of the House of Shimada. You’ll have a huge house and a bevy of servants.
‘So you see? He’s a man after your own heart – a man of the world, who’ll appreciate an educated wife. He’s exactly what you want. He’s the perfect choice.’
Taka said nothing. She didn’t know why her mother even bothered to talk to her about it. After all, everything was already decided.
‘I’ve met his parents, of course, and him, too,’ Fujino added. She flapped her fan furiously as if flustered at the very thought of him. Her plump cheeks had turned quite pink. Taka stared gloomily at the ink drying on the ink stone and the curling sheets of paper painted with bamboos. The more she heard, the less she wanted anything to do with this man. ‘He’s very nice-looking indeed, I might even say handsome. His manners are impeccable, he’s very accomplished and he’s just the right age – twenty-five. All in all, a delightful young man. So you see, there’s no need to look so glum. I care about my Taka, I wouldn’t do anything to make her sad.’
She had the same look on her face that she wore when they played the flower card game, when she held the winning hand. Taka sighed. She had no choice.
‘Let me remind you, my girl, you’re the second daughter of the second house. There’s the present number one wife, Madame Kitaoka, in Kagoshima, and she has children. I don’t even know what other concubines your father has. I just have to assume I’m number two.’ Her mother allowed a look of sadness to flicker across her face. Then she rounded on Taka. She was playing a complicated game. ‘So you see? You’re very lucky that anyone at all will take you, let alone a man with as bright a future as Masuda-sama. It’ll be at least as brilliant a match as we made for Haru. Your father will be most pleased.’
Taka sighed. Haru, her dear sister Haru. How she missed her! She remembered how they used to kneel side by side, working together at their paintings. And now Haru was gone, erased from the family register, the property of another house.
She remembered how she’d gone off so bravely in her wedding palanquin with attendants running behind. The last time Taka had seen her had been more than a year ago, when she had come home to have her first child, her belly huge, groaning as she heaved herself up from the floor. At night when they lay side by side in their futons she had whispered that her days had become terribly long and dull. ‘I sew,’ she’d said. ‘I look at the garden. I can’t shut myself in my room any more and read. Time passes so slowly.’ Her husband was kind enough, but she seldom saw him, and she had to do whatever her mother-in-law instructed.
And then the day of the birth had come. Taka would never forget that, not as long as she lived. She could still see Haru’s face, as clear as if she was there next to her – parchment white, her lips squeezed together as she struggled to maintain the composure expected of a samurai wife. Taka had run back and forth carrying basins of hot water, following her mother’s instructions, then knelt beside Haru and gripped her hand tight as the spasms racked her, praying to every god she could think of that her sister wouldn’t die, as so many women did.
And finally Haru could hold back no longer and let out shriek after piercing shriek as a tiny creature pushed out, first a livid crumpled head with a thatch of black hair slicked with slime, then a small purple body. Haru had grasped him in her arms and held him tight, panting and proud, as if she had found a reason for living at last.
Taka was not ready for that at all. Not yet, she thought, not yet.
‘I know you love your studies,’ said her mother, patting her arm. ‘But there’s nothing to stop you continuing once you’re Masuda-sama’s bride.’
‘What about Eijiro? You’re not forcing him to marry!’ Suddenly it all seemed so unfair. Her brother had turned into a wild young man who frittered away his days and showed no signs of growing up, let alone settling down and getting married.
Her mother’s face softened. ‘All in due course, my dear, all in due course. He’s a man, my dear, what do you expect? That’s what men do. You’ll learn that when you have sons of your own. They have their wild phase when they’re young, but then they settle down and take over the household, just like their fathers.’
‘But you weren’t forced to marry a stranger, Mother. You and Father …’
General Kitaoka had never been a stern patriarch, aloof and distant, like other girls’ fathers. When he’d lived there with them she’d seen him stroke her mother’s hair when he thought no one was looking, and pillow his great head on her bosom. She knew how much they cared about each other.
It was nearly three years now since he’d fallen out with his colleagues, resigned his government positions, packed his bags and disappeared in a cloud of dust at the head of a train of rickshaws. Every now and then a letter came. He was a gentleman farmer now, he wrote. He hunted, he fished, he walked in the hills with his dogs, he practised swordsmanship, he read books, he wrote poetry. Sometimes Taka tried to picture his new life. She knew he lived with his samurai wife in the city of Kagoshima in Satsuma province, at the southernmost tip of the island of Kyushu, so far away it seemed like the end of the world. How dreary it must be, she thought, after the culture of Kyoto and the excitement of Tokyo.
When he’d left she’d wished he’d taken them with him to Kagoshima. It would have been so easy just to set them all up – her mother, her brother and her – in a separate house, away from his wife. But now she was relieved he’d left them behind in Tokyo. She couldn’t imagine a worse fate than to be exiled to such a place.
Nevertheless, no matter how strange and inconsistent his behaviour, she knew he would not have forced her into marriage. He was too unconventional and he loved her too much.
‘I’d rather be a geisha, like you.’ She’d blurted out the words before she could stop herself. Her mother bristled.
‘That’s quite enough. We’re the subordinate family of General Kitaoka and don’t you forget it. We’ve all come up in the world
and I’m certainly not going to let you bring down the family name. You’ll do much much better than I ever could. And that’s an end to it.’
‘But why did you spend all that money to have me educated if all you intended was to marry me off and have me spend my life locked away in someone’s house?’ Taka wailed. ‘It’s no better than being a servant. Why can’t I work? I’ll teach poetry, or painting.’ Her mother raised her caterpillar eyebrows. ‘I know I’m just a woman, but I can be a scholar, a good scholar,’ Taka added miserably, trying to drive the mocking smile from Fujino’s face. ‘I’ll be the first woman scholar. You wanted me to be progressive. That would be very progressive.’
Her mother flapped her fan impatiently.
‘I knew all that education wouldn’t do you any good. I told your father so,’ she sighed. ‘You’ve turned out just like him, dear, and, I have to confess, like me, too – headstrong. I suppose I couldn’t have expected a geisha’s daughter to be as well behaved as a samurai girl. But you’ll do as you’re told all the same.’
The maids had brought in tea and she poured out a cup each for Taka and herself, then leaned forward and patted her hand.
‘But you’re right, my dear. This is the age of civilization and enlightenment and we do things the modern way. Masuda-sama is eager to see you so I’ve invited him over to meet your brother. You’ll welcome him and serve tea. I can assure you, you’ll be won over. Such a charming young man. You see, I have no terrible secrets to conceal.’
Taka was startled. It was quite unheard of for a man to look over his bride before the wedding day. If her father had been here he would never have allowed it. It was only because her mother was a geisha and had no idea of the way respectable people behaved, she thought.
‘In fact he’s coming this afternoon. I only wish your father could have been here too.’ Fujino’s voice had changed and to her horror Taka saw her eyes fill with tears. She looked away. She didn’t want the slightest hint that her mother might have feelings too, like her.
‘Just as we thought the war was over and our lives were going to be peaceful again, off he storms,’ her mother wailed. ‘Him and his precious principles. There he was, the most powerful man in the entire country and he throws it all away. The gods alone know what he can be thinking of, with his farming and his hunting.’ She dabbed her eyes with her sleeve and gave Taka a wan smile. ‘Just look at you. You’ve got ink all over your face! You’d better tidy yourself up if you’re going to be a rich man’s wife.’
Perhaps that was why her mother was so eager to find a husband for her, Taka thought, as the whisper of stockinged feet disappeared into the vast expanses of the great house. Perhaps she needed to keep herself busy to fill the emptiness in her own life. She seemed a little too bright and cheerful. If only she hadn’t been a geisha. Geishas and samurai were two sides of the mirror and Taka felt eternally torn between her mother’s geisha ways and her father’s fierce samurai spirit.
And the worst of it was, there was no escape. She could already feel the prison walls closing in around her.
7
‘OTAKA-SAMA,’ OKATSU HISSED, panting with excitement.
Ever since Fujino had burst in with her extraordinary announcement, Okatsu had been rushing back and forth, pulling out armfuls of dresses. They hung around the walls, stiff and flouncy and brilliantly coloured, like exotic birds – day dresses heavy with ruffles and ribbons, shaped gowns with bodices and draped and trimmed skirts, floaty frocks with trailing overskirts, and a couple of thoroughly uncomfortable whalebone corsets, purchased direct from Mr Kawakami of the Ebisuya emporium, who had brought trunkfuls of them to the house.
‘I’d knock over the teapot in one of those,’ Taka said, laughing, opting for a simple pale blue kimono with a subtle design of gentians across the sleeves and hem.
‘You’ll look like an old lady in that,’ Okatsu complained as she helped her tie the under-kimono and collar in place. ‘Why not something more bright and girlish?’
‘He’s been in America, he won’t even notice,’ said Taka. The truth was, she half hoped someone as progressive as this Masuda-sama would turn his nose up at a woman dressed in traditional costume.
Now Okatsu was on her knees, her face pressed to the shoji screens that closed off the room, hiding them from view. She’d pushed the screens apart just enough to peek through. ‘Taka-sama. The honourable guest is arriving!’
‘Okatsu, don’t peek. It’s not dignified.’
‘He looks like a real gentleman,’ Okatsu squeaked breathlessly. ‘And his clothes – just like a barbarian’s. Madam, come and see. You know you won’t be able to once you’re serving tea.’
She was right, it would be quite unseemly. Taka hesitated, then took Okatsu’s place. She held her breath, closed one eye and pressed the other to the crack between the screens. Her heart was pounding. It must be because she would be mortified if this unknown youth were to catch a glimpse of her, she told herself.
In the dazzling afternoon sun, the footmen were closing the gates and servants clustered around three splendid upholstered rickshaws with painted wheels and the hoods pushed back, emblazoned with the circle and half moon of the Shimada family crest. A young man was stepping down from one. He turned towards the house and for a moment his face was in full view. Light sparked off something metallic – a watch chain. Taka drew back, fearful he would see her, then took a breath and put her eye to the crack again.
It wasn’t so much his face she noticed as the lordly way he carried himself, as if he owned the world. He stood very straight, looking around with a disdainful air, his eyebrows arched and a distinct downward curl to his mouth, as if to suggest that this sort of place was really rather below him. His hair was glossy, cut in the modish jangiri style, cropped short with a side parting like a westerner’s and sleekly combed. While her brother and his friends mixed Japanese and western – a western jacket over flowing hakama trousers or a Japanese robe topped with a bowler hat, Masuda-sama was western from head to toe. He was wearing a suit that looked very expensive, with a waistcoat, a neatly folded handkerchief poking from his top pocket, a necktie and shiny leather shoes, and seemed perfectly at ease in it all.
The cicadas droned, the sun beat down and the courtyard shimmered in the heat. Beads of sweat were trickling down his face. He scowled and took a big handkerchief from his trouser pocket and wiped them away with the ferocity of a warrior beating back the enemy.
‘He must be sweltering in all those clothes,’ Taka whispered to Okatsu. She could see he was the sort of man her mother would think quite perfect – young, cocky, well dressed and extremely rich.
Besides Masuda-sama there were a couple of bewhiskered men who Taka guessed must be the marriage broker, Hashimoto-sama, and Masuda-sama’s father, and a broad-faced younger man with a determined expression who, according to protocol, was probably his brother. She was taken aback to see a woman too. Women didn’t usually attend these formal events. It showed the family must be really very progressive indeed. The woman was in her middle years, a forbidding-looking dowager with a scowl, a noticeably receding chin and a pair of glasses on a stick which she held to her eyes as she looked around. They were all dressed in formal western clothes, the men in high-collared suits, the woman in a day dress with a train and a large bonnet.
Taka knew very well that once she was married to this youth, it would be his mother, not him, whom she would see on a daily basis. She would have to serve her until the day one or other of them died. If she was kind, Taka’s life would be easy; but most mothers-in-law were far from that. Taka watched, her heart sinking, as the woman swung round and snapped at a servant who apparently wasn’t holding the parasol precisely where she wanted it.
As for Masuda-sama, it really didn’t matter what he looked like or what sort of person he was. Of course, it would be a brilliant match. Her friends would be eaten up with envy. When they left school, they all bragged about the wealthy young men they had captured and their expensive wed
ding kimonos and lavish palanquins; and she, Taka, it seemed, was to marry the wealthiest and most eligible of the lot.
But once they were married she’d hardly ever see him any more. Somehow they would produce children, but other than that he’d amuse himself in the pleasure quarters and geisha districts and no doubt keep a flotilla of mistresses, as men of his wealth and standing did – as her own father did. That was why all the other girls accepted whatever husband their parents chose for them, partly because it was what they were expected to do and also because in the end all that mattered was that he should be a man who could support a wife in the proper style. His character was irrelevant. Their relationship would be purely formal.
But in that case she could make the same compromise – except that while he was busy with his work and his mistresses, she would be imprisoned at home with his mother. That was the future she dreaded – and there was no escaping it.
Peeking through the screens, she felt such a sense of inevitability that she sank back on her heels, speechless. She was utterly trapped. Before, her life had stretched ahead of her, full of possibilities. Now that freedom, those possibilities, had all come to an abrupt end.
The little group was walking across the courtyard, servants scurrying alongside, holding parasols over their heads.
‘Okatsu, go and welcome them. I can’t,’ said Taka. She’d suddenly had a wild idea. Her brother and his friends all seemed to find Okatsu irresistible. Whenever she went to serve them, all eyes turned on her. She had to endure endless teasing and occasionally wriggle out of their clumsy embraces. Maybe she could work her magic on this young man too.
Okatsu covered her mouth with her hands and squealed with laughter. ‘That’s absurd, madam. I can’t do that.’
‘You’ll do it so much better than me. Anyway, it’s not proper for this Masuda-sama to see his bride before the wedding day. It’s not the way things are done.’
‘But that’s why he’s here, madam, to see you. Isn’t that what your honourable mother said?’ Okatsu might be her loyal maid, but she knew where the real power lay – with Fujino.
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