Strands of smoke mingled above the grilling meat. Aunt Kiharu took a scrap, dipped it into the raw egg and popped it in her mouth, smacking her lips. Taka reached for a strand of the stringy meat and pulled it apart with her chopsticks. It was not like eel at all but, if she tried hard enough, she could pretend it was.
21
THE NEXT MORNING when the servant brought in the Tokyo Daily News for her mother, Taka ran after him and snatched it from his hands. It was brimful of news about Maebara and his failed rebellion. She was so engrossed in the paper that it was late when she started for school. As she climbed into the rickshaw all she could think about was the conversation she’d overheard the previous day. She wondered what effect this new turn of events would have on their lives.
Her school, Kijibashi, had opened three years earlier, around the time that Taka’s father stormed off to Kyushu. The other girls all came from wealthy, powerful families, with fathers broad-minded enough to be willing to pay for their daughters’ education. Some were the languid offspring of Kyoto aristocrats, others of daimyo warlords now reappointed as provincial governors. But most, like Taka, were the daughters of the new elite, the southern samurai who had fought and won the civil war and pushed their way up from humble origins to grasp power.
Taka was undoing her boots at the door of the sprawling temple complex where the school was held when she heard voices piercing the thin wooden walls.
‘That rebellion in Hagi.’ She started and looked up, listening hard, as she caught what they were saying. ‘You’ll never guess who the leader was.’
‘Counsellor Maebara. Imagine that! He used to visit our house.’
She recognized the voices. It was not the Kyoto girls; they were far too grand to take the slightest interest in politics. It was the southerners’ daughters, her closest allies and friends, who listened in on intense political discussions at home and whose statesmen fathers knew what was happening long before anyone else did. But usually the girls discussed their schoolwork or gossiped about the teachers or each other. It was unheard of for anyone to talk politics at school.
A second voice piped up. ‘Father says there’s going to be another war soon and everyone knows who’ll be behind it. General Kitaoka, that’s who. He’s a traitor, that’s what everyone’s saying.’ Taka gasped with horror. She knew the earthy vowels – Okimi, with her cropped hair and rolled-up sleeves, who thought herself bolder and more unconventional than anyone else. Her father was a leading figure in the new regime and he and Taka’s father had been close. Okimi had been Taka’s most devoted friend until their fathers fell out.
‘He wants to destroy everything we’ve achieved and take us back to the feudal age!’ It was willowy Ofumi, the bespectacled daughter of a government minister, who always behaved as if she was a cut above everyone else.
Voices sparked one after another until the buzz echoed through the halls and classrooms, drumming in Taka’s ears. ‘Kitaoka’s a traitor, a hateful traitor.’
Taka knelt for a moment, her face blazing, her heart thundering in her chest. She couldn’t believe her erstwhile friends could turn against her so treacherously. Furious, she kicked off her shoes and slid open the door to the classroom with a bang. A sea of accusing eyes turned towards her and quickly looked away.
‘My father’s not a traitor,’ she shouted, on the verge of tears. ‘He has principles. He left the government because he disapproved of everything they were doing. You call my father a traitor – yours are crooks.’ The words came rushing from her mouth before she could stop herself. She remembered everything she’d heard her father say. ‘They’re in the pay of the banks and the finance corporations. They’ve forgotten their ideals, all they’re interested in is lining their own pockets, and they don’t care if they destroy the entire samurai class while they’re at it. Yes, your father, Okimi, and yours, Ofumi.’ Her words dropped into the silence like stones into a lake. She knew she’d gone too far, but she was too angry to care. ‘My father’s at home in Kyushu, where half your families come from too! He’s got nothing to do with Maebara or his insurrection. How dare you speak of him with disrespect!’
She sat back, panting. She was expecting her classmates to argue but no one said a word. They stared grimly at their desks. Even the Kyoto girls were silent; not one of them wanted to be associated with her, as if she was infected with some dreadful disease. It was a relief when the teacher came in and made them open their books.
Throughout the rest of the day, as Taka went from class to class, she heard voices rising and falling. Conversations tailed off as she approached, then started again as she walked away.
She kept her head high. That was what her father would have wanted. But in the rickshaw on the way home, she held her sleeves to her face and sobbed aloud.
They were racing along the broad avenues of the samurai district, between high walls lined with moats, when she noticed a face bobbing alongside. It was a man with veined cheeks and a cloth knotted around his head like a labourer. ‘Hey, you! Kitaoka girl!’ he panted, trying to grab at her skirts. She started in horror. He’d recognized the rickshaw even though the family crest was painted over. ‘Tell your father we’re with him! The men of Edo are ready to rise. We’ll get rid of those southern embezzlers.’
Others joined him, sprinting alongside. The driver was running so fast the rickshaw swerved violently and Taka was thrown across the seat, clinging to the rim until her knuckles were white.
Suddenly a stone ricocheted off the back. A different accent shouted, ‘Kitaoka! Traitor!’ and she jumped so violently the rickshaw tilted and nearly turned over. She caught a glimpse of someone running off and remembered the samurai who had burst into the Black Peony. This time there was no Nobu nearby to save her.
Usually Taka went round to the family door but today she just wanted to get inside as quickly as she could. As they rattled through the gates, she shouted to the rickshaw boy to stop and climbed down shakily. She ran to the great main door, stumbled in and leaned against it, breathing hard.
‘I hate that place. I’m never going back.’ Her words echoed round the empty hallway.
The vestibule smelt dank and cold. The front door was reserved for formal callers and the family seldom came here. Taka dried her eyes on her sleeve, bent down and fumbled with the buttons of her boots, wishing she was wearing sandals that she could slip out of more easily. Western clothes just weren’t made for Japanese houses, she thought, struggling with the hard leather.
She was prising the first boot off when she noticed a couple of pairs of men’s shoes lined up in the vestibule, smelling of leather and polish. When Eijiro had been around there’d always been visitors but since he’d left, the house had become very quiet. No one came to visit any more.
The inner doors slid open and a round, pretty face appeared.
‘Otaka-sama!’ It was Okatsu, rosy-cheeked and panting. She must have been waiting at the family door and had come in search of her. She glanced behind her, raising her eyebrows. ‘Visitors, just leaving.’
Taka kicked off the second boot and had scrambled to her knees when two men appeared, bony hands poking from the cuffs of their western suits. They looked like the shopkeepers who brought silks to the house, pale and stooped, as if they spent their time lurking in sunless rooms, fingering abacuses.
Fujino glided behind them like a great ship in full sail. She was wearing a kimono today, a particularly lavish one, with an elaborate design of chrysanthemums and pine branches on a white background and a richly embroidered olive-green obi, the sort of garment a top-class geisha would wear, not the modest, self-effacing consort of a great statesman. Taka had last seen her in it when her father hosted a party for his colleagues, some time before his sudden departure. She must have known there were visitors coming and dressed for the occasion.
She held herself tall and had her geisha face firmly in place, serene and impassive, but her eyes flashed dangerously. Taka hoped the men had not brought bad news. Perhaps so
mething had happened to her father or Eijiro; or perhaps there’d been another insurrection.
‘Ara. Taka, you’re back.’ Taka bowed to the floor and pressed her face to her hands. ‘Gentlemen, my worthless daughter, Taka. Taka, these gentlemen are from the Shimada company. Mr Hashimoto was kind enough to …’
Taka looked up. The older man was bowing nervously, like a nodding Daruma doll. He had a sagging, lugubrious face with pouches like money bags under his eyes and a wispy grey moustache flaring out on each side of his mouth. So this was Mr Hashimoto, the go-between. He’d probably come to make some final arrangements for the marriage. The net was tightening.
The men bowed again, stumbling into each other as they backed towards the door.
‘So kind of you to grace our humble abode,’ Fujino said in bell-like tones. Taka looked at her in surprise. The note of sarcasm was unmistakable.
‘A privilege to have met you,’ said Hashimoto, bobbing his head. ‘I’ve heard so much about your famous Kyoto hospitality.’
Fujino raised an ironic eyebrow. ‘Too kind.’ She smiled sadly. ‘If you get the chance you should go to Kyoto, gentlemen, and see the places where the famous battles were fought. But these days Gion is not what it was. We’re all in such a rush to be modern, we’ve lost those old-fashioned ideals that our men fought for – honour and loyalty and pride. But don’t let me keep you, gentlemen.’
‘Please pass on our respects to his lordship. We’ll be in touch when all this – er – business is over.’
The two men clambered to their feet, bowing and apologizing, and backed out of the door. They climbed into their rickshaws. There was a volley of shouts from the rickshaw boys and a creak of wheels and they disappeared in a flurry of dust.
Taka was desperate to find out what news the men had brought but she knew better than to rush her mother. Moving at a stately pace, Fujino led the way back to the family quarters and settled on her knees beside the brazier in the great main chamber. She pressed two fingers to her forehead and gently smoothed out the creases and sighed, shaking her head. ‘What a lesson. We should never have had anything to do with merchants. They’ve no idea how to behave. Shocking ill manners. It’s really too bad, my dear – and just as you’d become so enthusiastic, too. Okatsu, tea!’
Taka dropped to her knees beside her. She was beginning to guess why the men had come. Her mother reached out a plump white hand and laid it on hers.
‘You mean Masuda-sama …?’ asked Taka.
Okatsu lifted the steaming kettle from its hook over the brazier, filled the teapot, poured out two cups of tea, put them on a tray and held it out to Taka and her mother.
Fujino’s large bosom rose and fell and she sighed again. ‘I thought if I could push the deal through quickly enough, you wouldn’t have to endure the life I used to lead. I wanted so much to find you a husband. It’s a shame, but it can’t be helped. You can’t play games with the Shimadas. They’re a wily lot.’ She hesitated and looked questioningly at Taka. ‘Mr Hashimoto brought a letter.’
She held out a document, not rolled into a scroll in the traditional way but neatly folded. The paper was some modern weave and the script was crabbed and tight, the writing of a man who spent his days counting money, not the grand unreadable flourishes of a swordsman or a calligrapher:
Greetings. We hope this autumn season finds Madame Kitaoka in the very best of health and we offer our sincere gratitude for all the kindnesses Madame has deigned to shower upon us. We offer profound apologies for our recent silence regarding the marriage of Madame’s honourable and virtuous daughter to the unworthy young master of our house. We are informed that Master Eijiro has returned to Kyushu to join Lord Kitaoka and fully understand that Madame will wish to postpone all marriage plans until his safe return. We would not like to put Madame to any inconvenience, nor do we wish to embarrass Madame, and therefore happily agree to put all plans in abeyance until Master Eijiro’s safe return. We will not stand in the way should the honourable House of Kitaoka choose to look elsewhere. Signed this thirteenth day of the tenth month, Hiroyuki Hashimoto, chief clerk at the House of Shimada, Banking and Trading Corporation.
Taka had to read the words several times before she could grasp the meaning. The letter must have taken a long time to compose, she thought. It was carefully phrased to make sure no one lost face, but also that there was no mistaking the intention. So Masuda-sama was withdrawing his offer. Now that her father was spoken of in the same breath as outlaws and rebels, the last thing the Shimadas wanted was an alliance with his family. Far from being a highly desirable match, she’d become a pariah. The only surprise was that the letter hadn’t come earlier.
She breathed out hard. It was a stinging rebuff but also a reprieve. Her plan – to pretend she was eager to marry so that she could stay on in Tokyo – had been completely misconceived, she could see that now. If Masuda-sama hadn’t pulled out she would have ended up marrying him. She had had a lucky escape.
But instead of relief, a shock of fear swept over her, as if she’d been pushing against a great rock which had suddenly given way, leaving her teetering at the edge of an abyss. She put her face in her hands, trembling, aghast at the looming emptiness before her. She’d been so busy praying to be saved from this marriage, she hadn’t stopped to think what she would do if her prayers were answered. Now they had been – and she had not the faintest idea what would become of her.
‘Every stream has its depths and shallows,’ she reminded herself, trying to find reassurance in one of the proverbs Nobu used to quote in that touchingly old-fashioned way of his. It still hurt to think of him. After their two romantic meetings, she’d waited day after day for him to come back, daydreamed about how they might run away together, like people did in the old stories. But he’d simply disappeared, as he had before, into thin air. He hadn’t even sent a message. She couldn’t believe he could be so cruel. A terrible thought came to her – that he’d been sent to the front, perhaps killed. Even that was better than thinking he’d stopped caring about her.
Perhaps she shouldn’t have tried so hard to postpone the marriage. Masuda had been a decent enough man. She pressed her hands to her face and gave a long shuddering sigh. At least marriage would have been a familiar fate. But now instead she saw her life stretching out ahead of her, an empty road, long and bleak, with no marriage and no Nobu.
At least she didn’t need to hide her feelings. Her mother would just assume she was distressed by the abrupt end of all her marriage hopes.
‘Come, come, my dear,’ said Fujino, gently patting her thigh. ‘You’re better off out of it. Between you and me, I never liked Madame Masuda. Jumped-up townswoman with those snobbish airs of hers. They’re an arrogant lot, the Shimadas, they don’t care what anyone thinks of them. No sense of honour, no idea how decent people behave.
‘I know you’re sixteen, nearly seventeen, but don’t worry. There’s still time. We’ll find someone for you. One man’s much like another. Your father would have hated you to marry a banker, anyway. What you need is a dashing soldier, like the men I adored when I was your age. One of your father’s lieutenants, for example. Do you remember the imperial guards who were always around the house? Wasn’t there one you used to look at with big eyes? I’m your mother, dear. Mothers notice such things.’
Taka glared at her. She wanted to tell her never to interfere in her life again. But despite everything she found herself picturing the young men in their splendid uniforms and the tall, serious one with the pale face and intense eyes who’d been her father’s right-hand man.
Okatsu took a poker and shook the glowing embers in the brazier until they crackled and spat and burst into flame. She was avoiding Taka’s gaze. In front of Taka’s mother she couldn’t say anything.
Fujino sat back, took a sip of tea, smoothed her skirts and tucked them neatly under her knees. It was what she always did when she had something momentous to say. Taka waited, eyes narrowed. Her mother took a breath. ‘I’ve been too
selfish, dear. We’ll go to Kagoshima, to your father. The imperial guards are there with him. Perhaps we can—’
‘Kagoshima?’ Taka’s mouth fell open. She’d had a feeling this was what her mother was leading up to but it was a shock all the same. Okatsu had stopped poking the fire and was staring at Fujino in consternation, her eyes huge.
‘Kagoshima?’ Taka said again. ‘You mean … leave Tokyo? Leave our house?’
‘Don’t pucker your forehead like that. It’s very unbecoming. You’ll give yourself wrinkles. Gonsuké will book the passage. It’ll be an adventure. Your father needs us. He’ll be pleased to see us.’ Taka stared at her. She was not sure about that at all.
‘But … but what about Haru?’
‘Your sister belongs to another house now.’
‘But she still visits from time to time and it’s comforting to be close. It will be lonely for her if we disappear off to the ends of the earth.’ Taka took a breath. ‘Mother, it’s a foreign country down there. We’ll be like exiles. We won’t understand what people say. Are there four seasons, like in Tokyo? Do they have cherry blossom? We don’t know anything about it.’ She was shouting now. ‘And you don’t want to go there any more than I do.’
Fujino slammed her teacup down on the edge of the hearth. ‘We’re going to Kyushu whether we like it or not.’ Her voice was shaking. ‘We’re out of choices. I hadn’t realized how dangerous our situation had become till that letter arrived. Now that your father’s being branded a traitor we have to go quickly, tomorrow if we can. We may already have left it too late.’
To Taka’s horror her mother’s eyes filled with tears. She suddenly saw that it was far worse for her. She and Taka’s father had been apart for three years and Fujino had no idea what had happened in that time. He hadn’t summoned her, he probably wouldn’t even want to see her.
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