The Courtesan and the Samurai

by Lesley Downer

  ‘Disowned by his father, wasn’t he? Disinherited?’

  ‘He’s got no money. No point wasting your charms on him.’

  ‘What a jacket, so old-fashioned, and what a dreadful colour. He’s got no idea. What a bumpkin!’

  ‘I don’t like him at all. I hope he doesn’t ask for me.’

  A couple of the attendants pushed to the front of the cage and preened. Others beckoned to the men and winked. Kawagishi, with her plump little-girl face and big smile, and willowy Kawanagi, who were always together, were reading each other’s palms.

  ‘It used to be only the poor ones who came to look at us,’ Kawanoto whispered to Hana. ‘That was all they could afford to do – to look. The rich ones already knew who they wanted. But nowadays, with all these new clients, it’s a good way to get customers. You never know who might see you.’

  ‘Kawanoto-sama, Kawanoto-sama,’ came a voice. A young man had pushed his way up to the bars. Kawanoto slipped to the front of the cage and pressed her face close to his. He nodded and disappeared.

  Kawayu, the sulky overpainted girl, sidled up to the bars. She arched her back, tilted her head and fluttered her eyelashes, but no one paid the slightest attention. Instead there was a shout, ‘Hey, new girl, what’s your name? Tell us your name!’

  Kawayu threw Hana a venomous look. Hana smiled at her serenely and bowed her head with exaggerated politeness. This girl, at least, couldn’t do her any harm.

  Suddenly everyone was looking at her. The men had been chatting and shuffling their feet, but now, on the other side of the bars, utter silence fell.

  Overcome with shyness, Hana put her hands over her mouth and, as she did so, her kimono sleeve slipped back to reveal her arm. There was a hungry murmur in the crowd. Hastily she put her hands back in her lap and adjusted her sleeve. A young man was gazing at her through the bars. Their eyes met and he shuffled and looked down, blushing till the top of his shaven pate was purple.

  Trying not to draw any more attention to herself, Hana turned away from the staring eyes. There was a rustle in the crowd behind her. She stared down at her hands in her lap, wishing she could disappear. But the murmur grew – a tremulous sigh, a long-drawn-out moan of desire, rippling through the mob. Suddenly she realized what they could see – the back of her neck and the three points of unpainted flesh there. The elderly maid’s words flashed into her mind – ‘The shape makes them think of …’ Under the white paint her face glowed until she was sure everyone could see her ears burning.

  She raised her head and adjusted her collar, aware that Tama was watching her. Tama nodded and a smile crossed her face. She looked positively exultant.

  11

  As the bell tolled the hour, Tama and her fellow courtesans swayed to their feet. Maids scurried in to tug the courtesans’ collars, tidy the layers of fabric, adjust the massive bows of their obis and straighten their hairpins. From outside the open door of the cage a high-pitched voice floated by. Hana started. It was the fluting tones she had heard the first night she’d arrived, saying the ships had set sail. She’d been waiting for a chance to find the speaker ever since.

  Forgetting everything, she slipped through the crowd of young women. Kawanoto was at her heels, plucking at her sleeve as Hana caught a glimpse of quilted hems swirling out of the main door of the house.

  ‘We have to get back,’ Kawanoto was saying anxiously behind her. ‘The clients will be waiting.’

  Men were crowding into the earthen-floored vestibule, blowing on their hands, their breath steaming in the cold air. Some were old, some young, but they all looked prosperous. Smartly turned out in starched hakama trousers, haori jackets and thick woollen capes, they were quite different from the hungry-eyed men who had gathered outside the cage. Jostling elbows, greeting each other and bowing, they stepped out of their clogs and handed them to menservants, who gave them wooden tickets for their footwear. Geishas, carrying shamisens wrapped in silk, and grinning cheeky-faced jesters pressed in behind them.

  The only thing Hana knew was that she had to find the woman with the bell-like voice. Nothing else mattered.

  She wrenched her sleeve from Kawanoto’s grasp and, picking up her heavy robes in both hands, burst through the crowds and ran out of the door into the night, chasing after the voice and swirling skirts. She gasped as she felt the cold air on her skin. Then she caught a glimpse of a gleaming head slipping between the men crowding into the neighbouring house. She darted inside and looked up and down the lamp-lit corridor, then saw a door sliding closed and rushed up to it, panting.

  As she put her hand to it, she was suddenly aware of what an outrageous act she was about to commit. To open the door of a prostitute’s rooms and walk in uninvited – who knew what might be going on inside? But there was nothing else she could do.

  Taking a deep breath, she slid the door open.

  She was in a parlour almost as large and luxurious as Tama’s. Through the open doors leading to the adjoining room she could see a charcoal fire blazing in an enormous brazier and a table laid out with dishes. Tall candles on stands burned with huge yellow flames. In the centre of the room a group of geishas strummed shamisens, beat drums and sang. A couple of geishas were dancing, casting long undulating shadows. A party was in full swing.

  At the back men lounged, clapping to the music and gulping down sake in tiny cups. Women sat among them, some snuggled against them, looking up at them and pouting, others disdainful and aloof. A couple of doll-like children, as exquisitely dressed as little Chidori, ran about, topping up sake cups.

  With their white-painted faces, brilliant kimonos and enormous obis, the women all looked much the same. Dumbfounded, Hana stared. She had no idea which was the woman she was looking for or whether she’d even come to the right place. The music and clapping and laughter were so loud that the revellers didn’t even notice she was there.

  A youth in the blue cotton jacket of a manservant and an ancient maid scuttled out.

  ‘Who called you?’ hissed the maid. ‘One of our guests? I don’t have any note of it.’ She looked Hana up and down. ‘You’re lost, aren’t you? Be off with you, quickly.’

  Doing her best to speak in the Yoshiwara lilt, Hana murmured, ‘I’m so sorry. I have a message for … for one of the ladies.’

  ‘Give it to me and I’ll pass it on.’

  ‘I have to give it to her personally,’ said Hana desperately.

  The manservant started bundling Hana towards the door. Wriggling away from him, she pulled up her skirts and darted towards the room where the party was going on. She was at the threshold when the maid and manservant grabbed her arms.

  Above the music a man’s voice boomed. ‘My dear Kaoru, who’s your protégée? What’s this secret you’ve been keeping from us?’

  The music faltered and stopped, and the geishas froze in their dancing. Everyone – men, courtesans and geishas – swung round and stared at Hana.

  The maid crumpled to her knees. ‘So sorry,’ she whispered. ‘I’ll get rid of her.’

  ‘No, let her stay,’ said the man who had spoken. ‘Who is she?’

  ‘Yes, who is she, Kaoru-sama?’ chorused the other men. ‘She must stay!’

  ‘I can’t say I’ve ever seen her before,’ said a high-pitched voice that Hana recognized.

  In the middle of the group, kneeling straight-backed with an air of reserve, was a woman. Her stiff white obi, tied in a bow, was embroidered with a delicate pattern of pine, plum and bamboo sprigs. Her topmost kimono too was white. Instead of a crown, her hair bristled with hairpins, tastefully arranged. Her face was as perfect and blank as a mask in a Noh play. She pursed her lips and gazed at Hana with a puzzled air. ‘What is it?’ she asked.

  For a moment Hana was struck dumb, but then she remembered that she had only this one chance. Keeping her voice soft and trying to remember the dulcet Yoshiwara dialect, she spoke. ‘I’m sorry. I wanted to know if there was any news from … from outside. From the front.’

&n
bsp; The woman’s eyes opened wide and a frown creased her brow; then, quickly recovering her poise, she laughed, a tinkling silvery laugh. The other women, who Hana now saw were youthful attendants, covered their mouths with their sleeves and giggled as if they would never stop.

  ‘Foolish child,’ said Kaoru, her voice shriller than ever. ‘Whatever makes you think I know anything about what happens outside? We don’t talk about such dull things here. We have fun, don’t we, gentlemen? That’s all we do.’ She turned to the maid. ‘Give her some coins and see her out.’

  She gestured to the geishas. The ragged notes of a shamisen rang out and the geishas began to dance again.

  ‘Let her stay.’ It was the man who had spoken before. Hana looked at him, surprised. He was young and slender, with tawny skin, slanting black eyes and a full, sensual mouth. ‘We need young girls. She can be my guest.’ He turned to Hana. ‘Come and join us, have a drink!’

  Hana took a few steps forward. As a samurai wife she had led a confined life. She was used to serving guests with food and drink, but the only men she had ever exchanged words with were her family members and her husband. Now she was surrounded by strange men, all looking her up and down and smiling at her.

  ‘What’s your name?’ the man asked. ‘Come and sit here.’ He stretched out his hand and Hana noticed his long slender fingers. She took a step towards him, then stopped, horrified by his accent – harsh and guttural, like nothing she’d ever heard before. He must be a southerner, she realized. They were all southerners. How else could they afford a party like this?

  She looked again at his hand. There were brown marks on the inside of his fingers – calluses, as if he’d held a sword or a gun. How did he come to be here, in Edo, the northern capital?

  The man was looking at her kindly still. Kaoru smiled coldly.

  ‘Of course you may join us, my dear, don’t be shy.’

  Then the door slid open and Tama swept in in a cloud of fragrance, with Kawanoto just behind her. She looked around, took in the situation, then knelt ceremoniously and bowed with a great rustling of silk.

  ‘I’m Tamagawa. This’ – gesturing to Hana – ‘is my attendant. Do forgive her, she’s still young and must have got lost. Come now, my dear, we have to leave.’

  Hana turned, utterly deflated. She had had no answer to her question. All she had managed to do was antagonize Kaoru, her only link to the real world.

  ‘Wait. She hasn’t done anything wrong. Tell me, my dear, what’s your name?’ said the man.

  Before Hana could answer, Tama straightened her back and looked around proudly. The glittering colours and vast bulk of her kimonos seemed to fill the room.

  ‘Hanaogi,’ she announced. ‘Her name is Hanaogi. She will be the next star courtesan of the Corner Tamaya.’

  There was silence.

  ‘Does she have a patron?’ asked the man.

  ‘Not yet, sir. You’re welcome to place your bid if you wish. I’m sure you know the procedure.’

  ‘Hanaogi,’ said the man slowly, revolving the syllables around his tongue as if he found them particularly musical. ‘Hanaogi. Well, Hanaogi, you asked if there was news. I can tell you that there’ll soon be peace. There’s a new government now that will treat you girls very kindly.’ His face changed and for a moment he sounded less sure of himself. ‘We’re still dealing with the rebels in the north, but we’ll take care of them.’

  Hana nodded, careful to keep her face impassive. ‘We’ll take care of them’ meant they hadn’t taken care of them yet, which also meant that the northerners were still holding out. She had to stop herself from smiling triumphantly. She had a hundred more questions – about her husband, and whether there was any news of him – but that would be going too far. She turned away, ready to leave.

  ‘Let me hear your voice once more, lovely Hanaogi. Where are you from? What part of the country?’

  ‘She …’ Tama was about to answer for her but Hana wanted to speak for herself.

  ‘Nowhere,’ she said in the lilting tones she found hard to identify as her own. ‘I’ve made up my mind to forget everything from before I came here.’

  And, with a swirl of silk, she followed Tama and Kawanoto out of the room.

  Spring

  12

  2nd month, Year of the Snake, Meiji 2 (March 1869)

  Yozo sat cross-legged on the tatami, warming his hands at the brazier in the presidential quarters at the Star Fort. Despite the grand name, the presidential quarters were every bit as smoke-filled and freezing as anywhere in the land of Ezo. Draughts rattled the wooden rain doors and flimsy window frames and Yozo’s breath puffed out in icy clouds.

  It was late in the second month, spring according to the calendar, but here in Ezo the ground was still covered in a thick layer of packed snow. It was some four months since they’d taken the Star Fort and three since they’d lost the Kaiyo Maru.

  Outside, Yozo could hear the shuffle of feet and a gruff voice barking orders in a strong French accent: ‘At the double. Quick march!’ Then came the tramp of men marching across the parade ground. Horses whinnied and there was a distant rattle of shots from the firing range, but inside all was peace and tranquillity.

  Enomoto stood, legs apart, hands behind his back, studying the contents of the glass-fronted drinks cabinet which, fortunately, had been transferred to the fort before the Kaiyo Maru went down. Inside was a splendid array of bottles. Now that he was in his private apartments and in the company of friends, he had discarded his uncomfortable western uniform and was relaxing in thick cotton kimonos and a padded jacket. With his gleaming hair and delicately boned face, he looked every inch the aristocrat. He reached in and brought out a bottle of Scotch.

  ‘Glendronach 1856,’ he pronounced. ‘This should warm us up.’

  ‘Excellent year,’ said Yozo, affecting the air of a connoisseur. He raised the cut-glass tumbler in his big sailor’s fingers. ‘Well, we’ve certainly come a long way, especially you, Mr Governor General of Ezo. I always knew you’d do great things.’

  ‘And look what we’ve achieved!’ said Enomoto, laughing. ‘We’ve had elections and we’ve created Japan’s first republic – the Republic of Ezo. We’re a young nation like America, and we’re carving out a new path. Those southern bastards might be able to win battles with the cannons and rifles the English sell them, but that’s the only way they’ll ever be able to lay their hands on power. They wouldn’t dare organize elections because they know no one would vote for them. They’re still in the feudal age, they can only get their way through brute force. The law of the jungle, isn’t that what they call it?’

  Yozo swirled the translucent golden liquor in his glass and took a sip, holding it in his mouth for a moment before letting it trickle slowly down his throat. He paused, enjoying the malty flavour.

  ‘The law of the jungle,’ he repeated with a slow grin. ‘Survival of the fittest – at least that’s what it said in that book everyone was talking about in Europe.’

  ‘On the Origin of Species,’ said Kitaro. He had wrapped his thin frame in a thick padded jacket and sat huddled close to the fire. ‘By Charles Darwin.’ He framed the words very precisely, savouring the foreign syllables.

  ‘You read it, Kitaro,’ said Yozo. ‘You actually read it, a whole book, in English. I couldn’t have done that. If those southern baboons only knew that, or the Commander and those militia brutes who fight for him up here, for that matter. All they’re interested in is whether you can wield a sword.’

  Kitaro pushed his glasses down his nose with a bony finger and looked over the top with a comical air.

  ‘The best adapted to survive win,’ he said, frowning in mock severity. ‘But bear in mind that that doesn’t necessarily mean the strongest. It could be the most intelligent. In fact, it usually is, in the end.’

  The others laughed.

  ‘Do you remember that coffeehouse where we used to sit and argue?’ asked Enomoto. ‘You know, the one with the big glass windows
and leather seats.’

  Yozo shook his head, smiling. ‘We had arguments everywhere. London, Berlin, Paris, Rotterdam …’

  ‘It was Dordrecht,’ said Kitaro. Dordrecht. They all fell silent. From outside came the thunder of marching feet, punctuated by fierce yells and the rattle of side drums.

  ‘Do you remember how the sun came out that day?’ said Enomoto, gazing into the distance. He was no longer the Governor General of Ezo but a youth swept up in a glorious adventure.

  It had been the third day of the eleventh month of the year 1866 by the barbarian calendar, when fourteen of the fifteen men chosen to go to Europe had met in Dordrecht to celebrate the launch of the magnificent ship they’d commissioned, the Kaiyo Maru. (The fifteenth man, who had gone out to Holland as a blacksmith, had drunk himself to death. Yozo had not been close to him and had never found out why.) In honour of the occasion they set aside their trousers, jackets and neckties and put on formal Japanese wear of starched pleated kimono skirts and jerkins with shoulders that jutted out like wings. They stood proudly, shoulders thrust back, with their two swords in leather scabbards pushed into their belts. They were samurai again, though they’d long since cut off their topknots and wore their hair western style.

  ‘They’d set braziers alongside her hull,’ remembered Yozo. He could see it all clearly – the great ship with her gleaming black hull resting on the slipway, dwarfing the windmills and the cathedral, and the spectators crowding the banks and bobbing about in little boats on the water, waving their hats and cheering. ‘But the weather was perfect. She didn’t even ice up.’

  ‘The Lord of the Admiralty made a speech,’ said Enomoto. ‘Then he smashed the bottle of wine against her bows.’

  ‘Do you remember the roar as she started to move … ?’

  ‘The creaking and grinding, and all the people cheering and clapping …’

  ‘And off she glided …’

  ‘And the splash as she hit the water, like a tidal wave! I thought the boats would all capsize.’