‘Did you see him, Okatsu?’ Taka clasped her hands together and glanced around as if afraid someone might overhear her.
‘No, but I met Mori-sama’s mistress,’ said Okatsu, smiling serenely. ‘She seemed kind.’
‘You went to the house?’ Taka gasped. ‘I trusted you to be discreet! What sort of house is it? What sort of area? What’s she like?’
Okatsu put her hand over her mouth and laughed merrily at the barrage of questions. ‘Nice enough. An ordinary sort of person, not high class. She gave me tea and said Nobu was a very serious boy. I waited a while but he didn’t come back. Gone to the public bath or something. In the end I left the note with her.’
‘So you think she really gave it to him?’ Taka asked doubtfully. ‘And even if she did, do you think he understood? I was so careful in case someone else read it. Too careful, perhaps.’
‘Best not to price your badger skin …’
‘Until you’ve caught your badger.’ Taka smiled, remembering how Nobu used to frown when he quoted the old proverb. ‘Today is wish-granting day, don’t forget that. Perhaps the gods will grant mine.’
Here at Shinagawa the Eastern Sea Road swung along Edo Bay in a half-moon curve. The broad promenade was hung with huge colourful woven balls and lanterns with paper tails that swung and swirled in the breeze, brilliant as the threads on the weaver princess’s loom. People crowded beneath the decorations, dancing and singing and shouting.
Higgledy-piggledy along the water’s edge were stalls piled with amulets, purses, paper dolls and strings of origami cranes. Longhaired men with black-painted eyes thrust flasks of toad oil – ‘guaranteed to heal every ailment’ – at passers-by. There were jugglers, comic dancers and hawkers offering boat rides round the bay, and mouth-watering smells issued from stalls where men with scarves knotted rakishly around their heads grilled octopus and squid.
In front of them the great highway turned inland past mansions and temples and streets clogged with tiny houses, heading for Japan Bridge, with its famous fish market, right in the noisy heart of Tokyo. Behind them it wound along the coast and through the mountains, past villages of thatched houses and hills carved into stepped paddy fields, all the way to Kyoto, many days’ walk away, where Taka had grown up. She thought of their dark house there with its steep wooden stairs and tiny tatami-matted rooms, and how she used to hang over the balcony in the evenings, watching geishas and maikos clip-clop by, their long sleeves swaying as they walked, and felt an unexpected yearning for those distant childhood days, when her father had been around and life had been simpler.
By the time they got to Sengaku Temple it was almost dusk. They joined the crowds pushing through the shabby outer gate and along the path to the massive two-storeyed main gate with its steep tiled roofs and fierce bronze dragon coiling across the ceiling, then made their way past the great temple building and through the venerable graveyard surrounded by towering cryptomeria trees to the bamboo grove, tucked in a distant corner.
That morning Okatsu had collected dew from the big taro leaves in the garden and Taka had used it to grind ink. She’d written the usual wishes on strips of paper – for her family’s health, happiness and prosperity, for her father to come home, for success in her schoolwork – and added an extra secret one. She’d screwed up her eyes and whispered a prayer before she’d brushed it, hoping that if she concentrated hard enough she might make it happen: ‘You gods who know the secrets of my heart, protect me from this marriage.’ Then she’d folded the paper quickly before anyone could see it.
The bamboo boughs were heavy with coloured strips of paper, paper dolls, purses and chains. Taka pulled down an empty branch, murmuring a prayer as she tied her wishes on to it. When she released it, it sprang back up, decorations flapping madly like blossoms about to fall.
People were dancing slowly and hypnotically, singing the Tanabata song:
sasa no ha sara sara Bamboo leaves rustle,
nokiba ni yureru swaying in the eaves,
o hoshi sama kira kira stars twinkle,
kin gin sunago gold and silver grains of sand
‘I’m glad it’s fine tonight,’ Taka said, smiling at Okatsu, who was tying her own wishes in place. ‘The magpies will have built their bridge.’
As darkness fell, she gazed at the river of stars swirling across the black sky, looking for the two brightest pinpricks of light, the weaver princess and the cowherd, who could only meet that night.
There was a fizzle and a boom and Taka jumped, reminded of the gunshots she used to hear on the streets of Kyoto. A fiery chrysanthemum flowered, filling the sky, showering cascades of petals on to the shadowy temple roofs. Then came another explosion, then another, till the air was fizzing and crackling and the sky was ablaze with colour. At last the fireworks faded, the sky darkened and one by one people began to leave.
So Nobu hadn’t come after all. Taka had told herself again and again that he wouldn’t – better not to price your badger skin, she reminded herself sternly; but despite everything she couldn’t help feeling an ache of disappointment. He had probably never got her message and, even if he had, he hadn’t realized what she meant or hadn’t been able to get away. Or maybe he just hadn’t wanted to, maybe that was the truth of the matter. Two years was a long time. Maybe he’d forgotten her. She had no idea what had happened in his life. He was probably nothing like the boy she remembered. It was for the best that he hadn’t come, she told herself firmly.
The seven-day moon was rising, a half-circle glimmering on the horizon, dimming the stars.
‘Madam, it’s time to go,’ said Okatsu firmly. ‘Your mother will be waiting.’
Gloomily Taka followed Okatsu back through the grounds to the outer gate. They were on their way out when there was a clatter of wheels and a pounding of feet and a rickshaw pulled up in front of them. They stepped out of the way as a young man jumped down.
Taka caught her breath. The man’s face was in shadow but in the pale light of the moon she could make out his features well enough – the firm jaw and slanting cheekbones, the narrow black eyes, the prominent, oddly aristocratic nose, the full mouth and long neck. He was no longer the gawky sixteen-year-old who had left their house two years earlier. He was taller, well built; he’d become a man. But she knew him all the same. She recognized his bearing, the way he held himself, straight and proud when he thought no one was watching him, and remembered how he would stoop and bow his shoulders like an obedient servant when he heard someone coming. He was in hakama trousers and a jacket, rather formal for such a warm evening, and carrying a towel as if he was on his way to the bathhouse. She had to smile. Even now he looked as if he was wearing someone else’s clothes.
Then she realized she was staring in a way quite improper for a well-brought-up young lady, and quickly dropped her eyes. Now he was here she felt tongue-tied. She’d quite forgotten why it was she had sent him the note. She felt as if she had conjured up a spirit from the past. He couldn’t be real.
The clatter of the rickshaw wheels faded into the distance and the road fell silent. The young man was tying his purse back on to his sash. He looked up and saw Okatsu and started as if it was he who had seen a ghost. Then his eyes lit on Taka. He gasped and for a moment he hesitated and she realized that she too must have changed. Then his whole face lit up in a smile. He took a step towards them then stopped, as if he had suddenly remembered who they were and who he was. He bowed deferentially.
‘Nobu-sama?’ said Taka. She was mortified to hear the quaver in her voice.
‘Madam,’ he said, keeping his head lowered. She recognized the slight northern twang though his voice was deeper now. He was twisting his towel nervously. His hands had grown big, she noticed. ‘I hope I didn’t misunderstand, madam. I received your note. I thought you meant to summon me. If I’m mistaken, I shall leave immediately. I don’t mean to intrude on you.’ His voice was stern and Taka remembered how cruelly her brother had treated him. He must feel wary about the whole fa
mily now.
She bowed shyly. ‘You’re not mistaken, Nobu-sama. Today is Tanabata. I wanted to celebrate it with you. It’s just two years since you left our house.’
His face softened. ‘I’m so happy to see you, madam, and Okatsu too. I never thought I’d see you again.’
Clogs clattered along the road as people left the temple, fluttering their fans. Taka heard the muffled roar of the waves not far away and felt the freshness of sea air on her skin. Clouds scudded overhead. There was a wonderful feeling of space and openness.
‘Did you bring a wish?’ she asked, smiling at the young man. The moonlight picked out each of his features, carving ghostly hollows under his brow and cheekbones.
‘I have one in my heart.’
‘Let me show you the bamboo grove.’
Before they’d been children but now he was a man and her consciousness of it made her shy.
Okatsu drew her breath between her teeth. ‘It’s after dark,’ she said. ‘Your mother will want me to come with you.’ Taka set her shoulders and Okatsu’s voice tailed away. She knew very well how stubborn Taka could be. ‘We will both be punished if she finds out, I worse than you,’ she added, sighing.
‘She won’t find out,’ said Taka firmly. ‘We won’t be long.’
A few loiterers remained in the temple grounds. Taka and Nobu went through the outer gate and the two-storeyed main gate, under the trees and past the great temple to the graveyard. Taka was walking in front, leading the way. She heard the patter of Nobu’s clogs on the flagstones and the sound of his breath in the stillness. The last cicadas had fallen silent. Bats flittered and an owl flapped from the trees, startlingly close. Taka had so much to say; but she didn’t want to break the spell.
The moon had risen and shadows chequered the path. They made their way between the tombstones, breathing the scent of incense smoke and fresh-cut pine laid in front of the stones. Water sparkled in the shallow stone basins.
There was a sudden silence. Nobu was standing gazing at a moss-stained tombstone that towered over him, enveloping him in shadow. He reached up and ran his fingers over the worn characters carved on the stone.
‘Asa-no,’ he read, picking out each hieroglyph. ‘Asano Naganori, Lord of Takumi, of the domain of Ako.’ Taka was startled to see how his face had changed. He was frowning as if at some painful memory. ‘Madam, we should walk with more respect,’ he said sharply. ‘You must have forgotten. This is Sengaku Temple, the temple of the spring on the hill. These are the tombs of the forty-seven.’
Taka had passed the graves of the famous warriors so many times, placing sprigs of fresh pine on them and putting her hands together in respect, without much thinking about it. She was touched that Nobu knew these difficult characters and recalled how she had loved it when he recited the old chronicles for her.
‘Will you tell me their story, Nobu?’
Gravely, he started to speak. ‘Asano, Lord of Takumi, on the fourteenth day of the third month of the fourteenth year of Genroku, being goaded beyond endurance by the insults of Lord Kira, Official of Protocol, drew his short sword and struck him within the precincts of Edo Castle.’ Nobu’s voice had taken on a northern hue. He spoke softly, in rhythmic cadences, shaping each syllable, his eyes fixed on something in the far distance or the long-forgotten past.
‘For that offence he was condemned to die by his own hand. His lands were confiscated and his retainers, now lordless, became ronin.’ Ronin – ‘wave men’, samurai without a master, at the mercy of the wind and the waves. He said the word with fierce emphasis.
‘Forty-seven men took a solemn oath that they would do everything they could, even forfeit their very lives, to avenge their lord and take the life of Lord Kira, who had insulted their master and brought about his disgrace and death and the destruction of his domain.’
He walked on slowly from stone to stone, reading the names aloud. At the end of the line of stones was a particularly large, imposing one, set back from the rest, with an offering box in front and scented smoke pouring from the bundle of incense sticks which burnt there. It was freshly scrubbed and flowers filled the stone vases. Nobu read the inscription: ‘Oishi Kuranosuke, chief among Lord Asano’s retainers.’
The forty-seven knew that Lord Kira would expect them to seek revenge and would fortify his house and surround himself with men at arms. If their mission was to succeed, they would have to find a way to make him lower his guard. To put him off the scent, they went their separate ways as if, now that they were masterless, they had forgotten their allegiance and abandoned their samurai pride. Some became carpenters or craftsmen, others merchants.
Oishi Kuranosuke, their leader, was a famous warrior. He knew that he would be hard put to convince Lord Kira that he was not intending to pursue their vendetta. First he left his home and moved to Kyoto, to the geisha quarters of Gion, and there took to frequenting houses of ill repute and indulging in bouts of drunkenness and debauchery. Passers-by saw him lying drunk on the street and spat on him, appalled at such un-samurai-like behaviour. He even divorced his wife, sent her back to her parents and took a concubine.
He knew very well that Lord Kira would have set spies to watch him. Two years went by, and finally Lord Kira, convinced that the retainers really were cowards who had forgotten their sacred duty of revenge, sent away his guards. The moment had come.
It was midwinter and snow lay thick on the ground when the forty-seven stormed Lord Kira’s residence on the east bank of the Sumida river. The cowardly lord hid in the woodshed. Searching for him, the retainers stabbed spears through the walls until one came out with blood on the tip. They had found him. They hauled him out and killed him with the same short sword with which Lord Asano had been ordered to kill himself.
Then they cut off his head, brought it to Sengaku Temple, washed it in the spring on the hill and placed it before the tomb of their dead lord. Their revenge complete, the retainers gave themselves up to the shogun. They had broken the law and, despite his sympathy, the shogun was obliged to sentence all forty-seven to die by their own hands. People crowded the streets to applaud, awed by their dedication and sense of samurai honour, as their bodies were carried to Sengaku Temple to be buried.
‘My mother told me their story,’ Nobu said quietly. ‘She wanted me to be like them. Never to be afraid, to do my duty, to put honour before everything. I may have to work as a servant, but I can still strive to lead my life with honour.’
He seemed like one of the ronin himself, Taka thought, as if he too was Oishi Kuranosuke, pretending to be someone he was not.
‘You’re not a servant, Nobu-sama,’ she said. She reached out and took his hand, amazed at her own boldness in doing something so improper. His palm was rather rough and hard and she could feel the heat of it.
He closed his large fingers around her smaller ones. ‘I can’t believe I’m here with you,’ he said. ‘It’s like a dream. It can’t be true.’
A wind blew up, rustling the trees; it seemed to hold the spirits of the forty-seven warriors. Threads of incense smoke rose from before each tomb, filling the air with the solemn smell. They stood for a while in silence.
‘I’m sorry my brother was so unkind to you,’ Taka said softly. There was so much to be said, so little time to say it.
‘He had your honour and your best interests at heart.’
‘He said you’d helped him. I was so happy to find out where you were.’
‘He didn’t need my help. Some ruffians were pushing him around, that’s all. I didn’t want you to hear I’d been in the Yoshiwara. You must think I’m not a man of honour.’
Clouds scudded across the moon, obscuring it.
As they walked out of the graveyard they saw the glint of water. Beside the path was a small well surrounded by a bamboo fence, with rocks and ferns around it – the ‘spring on the hill’ where the ronin had washed the villainous Lord Kira’s head. Nearby was a stall manned by a shaven-headed priest.
‘We should buy
incense,’ said Taka.
Nobu was looking at the amulets laid out in rows, containing prayers for good health or wealth or protection on the road. ‘Sengaku amulets must be particularly powerful,’ he said. He picked one out and bought it. Taka felt the touch of his fingers on hers as he put it into her hand. She took it, a small brocade pouch of red silk, with the name of the temple – Sengaku – embroidered in gold and a prayer concealed inside. It was as small and light as a feather. ‘All-round good fortune. A keepsake to remember the forty-seven by – and tonight.’
‘It only has half a year left,’ said the priest apologetically. ‘Half a year of good fortune.’ Amulets always expired at the end of the year.
‘I’ll keep it with me always.’ Taka tucked it into the sleeve of her yukata as they went to light incense in front of Kuranosuke’s grave. She bowed her head, wishing the gods could stop the movement of time.
‘Come,’ she said, taking his hand again. ‘Let’s go to the bamboo grove.’
They walked through the bamboos, hearing the whisper of branches sweeping low under the weight of all the paper wishes.
‘I want to thank you, madam. I’m in the army now. When I heard I’d been accepted it was the best day of my life. And it was all because of you that I passed the examinations. I’m so grateful for the help you gave me. I’ve never forgotten how we used to sit together and read. And you, madam …’ His tone changed. He dropped her hand and moved a little apart from her. ‘Your brother told me you are to be married. I should offer my congratulations.’
The Samurai's Daughter Page 13
