Falling From the Floating World

by Nick Hurst

  ‘That’s fantastic!’

  Tomoe was delighted. She’d rushed to my place as soon as I texted, insisting I give her the details in person. She arrived, face flushed, eyes wide. Even the curls of her hair were buoyant as they cascaded from the white ribbon wrapped south-east of her crown.

  ‘He threatened you? He told you to back off?’

  ‘Yes he did,’ I said, put out. ‘He’s a good guy, but he can be scary. It wasn’t very nice.’

  ‘Of course not. I’m sorry,’ she said, putting on a sad face but failing to pull it off. ‘But it’s good news – it’s what we were trying to find out. They wouldn’t be threatening you if we hadn’t been right. You did it!’

  She successfully played on my pride.

  ‘I suppose so,’ I said, my chest a little fuller. ‘But he was very careful not to mention anyone’s name. We can’t be sure.’

  ‘Oh, come on,’ she said, dismissing my doubts. ‘Who has the power to use Ernesto Aerts as muscle? And why would anyone who isn’t Takata threaten you for trying to find out about him?’

  ‘I see what you mean. But at the same time it’s not that great. It means we have to stop.’

  ‘Why would we do that?’

  ‘I told you what he said. If we keep on we’re going to get hurt.’

  ‘Oh, that. Don’t worry, I’ll be careful,’ she said absently, her mind already on the next stage of her grand, unexplained plan.

  ‘Come on, Tomo, these are serious people. We’ve got to do as they say.’

  ‘You worry too much,’ she said, ending the argument in a way that me feel stupid, despite the fact I could think of no way I wasn’t right.

  ‘But what about Ernesto? I gave him my word.’

  She didn’t hear me. She had her head in the fridge looking for something to rustle up for dinner. She’d already moved on. Despite her confidence I had the feeling further probing wouldn’t end well.

  SEVEN

  Dreaming of the Floating World 1

  She woke with a start. Something wasn’t right. She looked around her, trying to work out what it was and groaned. She’d rolled off her takamakura, the hard, raised pillow that kept her head elevated and preserved her elaborate hair. Or at least it did when she didn’t roll off it.

  She turned towards the paper shutters that allowed far more light through than she liked, the beams dancing off pristine tatami mats to sting her eyes and offend her aching head.

  ‘Michiko!’ she called out.

  Almost immediately the shōji door slid open and her apprentice appeared with a tray. Fish, rice and pickles peeped from the top of exquisite plates and steam twisted and wrestled from tea and miso soup.

  ‘Ohayō gozaimasu!’ Michiko greeted her cheerfully as she set down the tray.

  ‘Mm. Ohayō.’

  She was less favourably inclined to the new day. Assuming it was new.

  ‘What time is it?’

  ‘It’s still early – just after midday.’

  In their line of work that wasn’t late.

  ‘It was a wonderful evening Onēsan, Elder Sister, but I’m not sure how you managed to keep drinking throughout.’

  As an apprentice, Michiko was expected to bring youthful vitality to such affairs but she wasn’t expected to lead them and could therefore exercise restraint. Yet there were those who didn’t drink at all and, if she were honest, she had to admit she did so partly for pleasure. It was just never as pleasant the following day.

  But it had been a good night. There were clients who sought culture and refinement and she had had enriching engagements with such men. But it was with customers who sought entertainment for its own sake that most fun was to be had. Of these, Lord Ezoe was a favourite, and with his friends, more courtesans and other hangers on, they had continued past dawn.

  Blurred memories of the night slowly took shape. She had been on fine form. Stealing to the entrance she had snuck a pair of swords inside, despite the ban on weapons in the quarter’s buildings. With a man’s kimono slung around her she had swaggered through the tea-house, ridiculing the samurai. But instead of drawing anger, it had created a scene of hilarity and not a little lust.

  ‘Is my hair all right?’

  Michiko giggled in reply. ‘Almost. Let me.’

  It was patted into more respectable shape.

  ‘There – that will do until someone comes to fix it properly. After all this time I don’t know how you fall off. Even I can sleep through the night.’

  ‘Fetch me more tea,’ she ordered, her anger too affected to have effect. ‘The standards nowadays – the trouble I’d have been in for such cheek.’

  As she rose unsteadily she remembered something else of the night, something that had disturbed her. Lord Ezoe’s retainer had pulled him aside at the height of festivities. It would have earned him censure had there not been good cause. But instead of rebuking him, Ezoe had held a pose of contemplation the alcohol consumed should not have allowed. He had broken from it to detail orders in the ear of his retainer, then returned to the revelry, his spirit apparently intact. Yet at the end of the entertainment he had excused himself rather than sleeping there as planned and paid for.

  ‘Michiko.’ She called again more sharply. ‘Michiko! Why must I wait so long?’

  The door slid open and her apprentice reappeared.

  ‘I’m sorry, Onēsan,’ Michiko bowed. ‘What is it I can do?’

  ‘I need you to go about the quarter. I have the feeling something may have happened last night. Find out what it was and report back to me please.’

  She reached for her thin cotton yukata kimono.

  ‘And make sure a bath is readied,’ she told the departing apprentice, who relayed the message in urgent calls that echoed among the servants as she departed the house.

  She didn’t have to wait long for the news. She had made her way to the bathhouse, crossing stones set like summer clouds reflected in the waves of white gravel that washed across the lawn. Shortly after entering, the supervisor of the house’s courtesans had come in.

  ‘Have you heard?’ Obasan, Auntie, asked by way of a greeting.

  She turned quickly, disturbing the two assistants soaping her down. ‘Heard what?’

  As her looks had faded and then softened, the retired courtesan’s character had grown hard. Eager to be first with gossip, the more scandalous it was the more it seemed to placate the demons that resided within.

  ‘One of Genpachi’s retainers was defeated in a duel by the great gate at dawn,’ she began. ‘But instead of being slain, his nose and ears were cut off and his swords taken. He couldn’t commit seppuku. He had to walk back to town in shame.’

  The retainer had slandered her family, and her in particular, less than two weeks before. He wasn’t someone for whom she had sympathy, but the timing of the incident and Obasan’s manner put her ill at ease.

  ‘It isn’t a pleasant thing,’ she replied. ‘But I can think of many I would shed tears for before that man.’

  She turned to face Obasan as water was poured over her to wash away the suds and allow her the hot bath she craved.

  ‘But you have something to add.’

  Obasan appeared to be caught in a dilemma, the thrill of the gossip tempered by the harm it could bring to the house. When she spoke her voice was laced with concern.

  ‘They say it was your father.’

  She looked up from her calligraphy, which was for once failing to bring her calm.

  ‘I’ve already been told,’ she said to Michiko, who was struggling to catch her breath. ‘But Obasan didn’t know anything of my father. Do you have any news of him?’

  ‘I’m sorry, there’s very little,’ the apprentice gasped. ‘They say when the duel ended he departed in the direction of your village. But when the bakufu shōgunate officials came to arrest him, he was nowhere to be found.’

  ‘That’s impossible. My father would have known the repercussions for defending our family name. If it was him, he would have r
eturned home. He would have committed seppuku and brought an honourable end to the affair. Are you certain?’

  ‘Yes, Onēsan, I heard it from an apprentice of the Corner Tamaya House. She was told by the gateman and he witnessed the whole affair.’

  ‘In that case my father would have taken his life.’

  She said it with certainty but without a body there had to be doubt. Michiko shifted uncomfortably as her mistress’s forehead knotted in a frown.

  ‘We need to get word to Lord Ezoe,’ she said finally. ‘He knows what happened. I can find out what’s become of my father from him.’

  ‘And what is it you really wish to discuss?’ Ezoe asked after the formalities that civilised discourse required were complete. ‘I believe you value my company beyond the normal platitudes but it hasn’t been a full day since we last met. What service can I be to the most distinguished courtesan in the land?’

  ‘You’re too kind,’ she replied, bowing her head slightly. ‘It’s true I’m lucky enough to hold some respect within the quarter and perhaps with some of its clientele. But beyond its closed walls …’

  ‘You wish to know if I have heard news of your father?’

  ‘I was hoping you might have. You have a way of knowing what politics are being played, what power struggles fought.’ She looked at him keenly. ‘Sometimes I get the sense you hear of such things before they even occur.’

  He looked up quickly and then smiled.

  ‘I shouldn’t have underestimated you. Despite having out-drunk an entire room, I should have known your senses would not have been dulled.’

  She said nothing.

  ‘You’re right, a message was conveyed to me – although just after the events of which you infer occurred. I had two men sent to the village, for you know I care for the family as I do the daughter. But they were too late. He had already been intercepted by rōnin and taken away.’

  ‘Rōnin?’ she exclaimed. ‘What would masterless samurai want with my father?

  ‘It’s a good question. And it begs another. Why would they be in such readiness that they could abduct him immediately after an unanticipated event?’

  She admired his guile.

  ‘But you usually have the answers to such questions. And I believe when the occasion demands, you’re capable of gathering that kind of man.’ She searched his face for clues. ‘So little happens without some detail coming to your eyes and ears – do you really not know who acted before the bakufu could?’

  ‘I’m touched by your faith but I’m afraid I can’t yet repay it. All I can tell you is he was taken by rōnin and there are rumours they were disposed of when their work was done.’

  ‘Disposed of?’

  ‘On this I’m less certain, but this morning the body of a rōnin was found snagged on the banks of the Kanda River. I have a suspicion that before its discovery others may have floated past.’

  ‘But none of this makes sense. It was a straightforward matter of honour. Who would want to abduct my father and why would they go to such extremes?’

  ‘That’s exactly what I intend to find out,’ he said, and at that moment she saw the steel he withheld in the quarter but was feared for outside. ‘But I’m afraid that’s for another day. For now, you know as much as I.’

  ‘In which case we must move to lighter matters,’ she said, lifting her voice from its hushed tones. ‘You’ve been tending to me so I’m bound to repay the debt. Michiko, bring me the shamisen so I may entertain Lord Ezoe while he is helped into his sleeping robes.’

  The screen door slid open and Michiko and an assistant came in. Two further servants entered after them to assist Ezoe into his night-time attire. Once eased into his yukata he reclined on three layers of futon that had been laid out, each stuffed thick with cotton and clad in the finest red silk. He closed his eyes and allowed the haunting music to spirit him away to a place man’s excesses couldn’t trouble his spirit, a world where tumult was replaced by stillness and calm.

  So taken was he, he didn’t notice when the sounds of the shamisen stopped, or hear the servants help the courtesan into her robes. He was only brought from his reverie when a body sidled up to his and he felt a soft breeze across his neck. A hand reached over and stroked the curves of his chest. Its teasing fingers glided downward, dancing on the muscles of his stomach, then the top of his pubis, before they paused. Just as their curtailed promise threatened to overwhelm him, they returned to life and began to feather a tantalising path down.

  ‘Mm,’ he murmured, now captured in a real paradise. ‘Yoshi—’

  EIGHT

  ‘Yoshi!’

  I woke sitting bolt upright. I looked beside me to see Tomoe staring up.

  ‘Who’s Yoshi?’

  ‘Ah, no one,’ I said, settling back.

  ‘You seem very excited about no one,’ she said, thrusting a hip into the evidence.

  ‘It isn’t anyone. I don’t think. I was just dreaming—’

  ‘I know you were dreaming. I’m wondering who you were dreaming about.’

  ‘I don’t— It was just a stupid dream about—’

  But she had already turned away. I was too drowsy to protest any further and drifted back to sleep. When I woke up she was gone.

  I called her that evening.

  ‘Hi,’ she said, her voice devoid of warmth.

  ‘Hi.’

  There was a pause.

  ‘You’re not really pissed off at me for dreaming about a geisha, are you?’

  ‘How do I know it’s a geisha? How do I know you haven’t met another girl?’

  ‘For god’s sake, Tomoe,’ I said, exasperated. ‘Go and get a picture of us. Then tell me if you really think you’re the one who needs to worry about being two-timed.’

  Something in my voice must have sounded genuine because she giggled.

  ‘Geisha turn you on, do they?’ she asked. ‘Is it the heavy white make-up? You know they used to blacken their teeth? Do you want me to blacken mine – would that turn you on?

  ‘She wasn’t like that in the dream and I’m happy with your teeth the way they are. Although, fix me up with a nice geisha girl and you never know … Maybe I’d get a thing for the kimono and tabi socks and trade you in.’

  ‘Oh yeah, we could send you back in time to when they’d never seen a gaikokujin before, you’d like that,’ she teased, using the polite form for foreigner. ‘Oh, Rei, Rei! Big gaikokujin man.’ She dropped an octave. ‘Oh, you like my loving, geisha girl? Call me Raging Rei!’

  ‘So, are you going to stop being moody with me then?’ I asked when I’d stopped laughing.

  ‘I’ll stop being moody with you. Come round, I was about to watch a film.’

  Things seemed to go back to normal for a week. But they didn’t stay that way long. When Tomoe appeared as a stranger at my door again, it wasn’t a flood of tears that disturbed me but the lack of any emotion at all. Getting an explanation was no less challenging than it had been when she’d arrived upset before.

  ‘Please, just hold me,’ she said in a small voice borrowed from someone else. ‘I need you to hold me.’

  ‘Tomoe,’ I coaxed as I held her tight. ‘Tell me what’s wrong. I can’t do anything to help you if I don’t know.’

  ‘I went to the yakuza offices,’ she said flatly.

  ‘You did what?’

  I thought a moment.

  ‘They have offices?’

  ‘Yes.’

  It was the kind of conversation that needs one side to drive.

  ‘But you think these people killed your father. Why did you visit them? They could just as easily have hurt you.’

  I stopped and lifted her head from my chest so I could look in her face.

  ‘They didn’t do anything to you did they?’

  ‘No. I’m OK.’

  ‘Sweetheart, you say you’re OK but you don’t look it at all. You keep turning up like this and I sit here like an idiot because I’ve got no idea of what’s happened or what I can do. Pl
ease, let me help you.’

  She looked at me and I could see a hint of the Tomoe I knew behind her eyes.

  ‘I’m sorry. Nothing happened, I promise. You don’t have to worry about me like that. But I heard things about my father, things that were really difficult to hear.’

  Her voice caught.

  ‘They’re going to take years to come to terms with. I want to talk to you about them, I really do, but I can’t, not now, I just can’t—’

  A lone tear struggled from her eye and wound a melancholy trail down the contours of her face.

  ‘Please, hold me like you love me. Don’t let go.’

  It was the last I was to see of her for nearly three weeks, weeks in which she was apparently occupied by work – a poetry convention in Kobe followed by an ukiyo-e exhibition in Osaka – but I suspected were spent tracking her father’s killers. Seemingly indestructible, she was the Tomoe I knew again, but she wasn’t inclined to talk about work or investigations when we spoke on the phone.

  ‘Oh, Ray-kun, please – I’m either working my fingers to the bone or being bored to death by earnest academics. Just talk to me about nothing. Please?’

  One part of me, admittedly the larger part, was happy to oblige as it meant I could keep my promise to Ernesto and avoid any follow-up calls. But I had to fight a sense of shame. She was my girlfriend. I surely should have been doing more.

  ‘New addition to the list!’ announced Johnny.

  ‘What’s that?’

  He tutted in disappointment. ‘Come on, work with me, show some creativity. At least have a guess.’

  I’d met Johnny on the plane. He’d interviewed with an English language school in London and flown over with twenty other teachers who happened to be on my flight. He was the same age as me but his decision to leave his job in IT had been out of boredom and solely his. Fifteen months in, he remained fascinated with the fūzoku, the sex industry in Japan, in particular the innumerable ways it catered to every fetish and whim.

  ‘OK, so it’s not the role-reversal club where the schoolgirls touch you up on the train?’