The Courtesan and the Samurai

by Lesley Downer

  She had reached the gate that led to Edo-cho 1 and the Corner Tamaya when she paused, playing with her fan. She would go and see Otsuné. She would know what to do.

  A few moments later, Hana was outside Otsuné’s door, trying to slide it open. But it was locked. She stopped, puzzled. No one ever locked their door, especially not Otsuné. She shoved at it again, wondering if it was jammed, then shook it and rattled it.

  Thinking that perhaps her friend had fallen ill, she hammered at the door and shouted, ‘Otsuné! Are you there?’

  Then she heard footsteps inside and the sound of something heavy being shifted and heaved a sigh of relief. The door slid open a crack.

  ‘What’s the matter? Were you sleeping?’ Hana demanded, pushing the door back.

  A shaft of pale sunlight lit the sandals that littered the entrance and the step up to Otsuné’s little room, throwing them into relief. Hana’s shadow lay across them, black and sharp-edged. But as she stepped inside she realized that outside that narrow oblong of light the place was in darkness and as humid and close as a bathhouse. Otsuné must have shut the rain doors, Hana thought, puzzled.

  Then a pair of hands grabbed her roughly by the shoulders. Hana cried out in shock as her attacker twisted her round and thrust her to one side. She stumbled forward, putting out her hands to try to save herself, then tripped over some sandals, lost her balance and fell. She heard the crash of a shoe rack falling over as the door slammed, throwing her into total darkness, and there was the thunk of a bolt being thrust into place.

  Still dazzled from the light outside, she fumbled around, shaking with shock and fear, feeling for something familiar, then sprang back with a gasp of horror as her hand brushed against coarse fabric. She could hear breathing, smell male sweat and the stench of dirty clothing, and feel the heat of someone close to her. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she saw a shadowy figure.

  A madman or a beggar, she thought, hearing her heart pounding in her ears. He must have burst in and killed Otsuné and now she was trapped here alone with him. She screamed, but the man grabbed her and clamped his hand across her mouth so hard that she tasted the sweat and dirt on it. She felt his body pressed against hers and struggled, trying to wriggle out of his grasp, but he only held her tighter. Panic rose in her chest as she kicked and fought, gasping for breath, sure he would have her down on the floor and be ripping off her kimonos in a moment. He wrestled her on to her knees, keeping his hand pressed tightly across her mouth.

  ‘Don’t be afraid. I won’t hurt you,’ he said quietly. ‘Please don’t make any noise.’

  She stared up at him and shrank back as she caught a glimpse of unkempt hair, a dark growth of beard and glittering eyes in the thread of light that filtered through the gap between the rain doors.

  ‘Forgive me,’ he said. ‘Please don’t scream.’

  She nodded, shaking, and he released her. She clenched her fists as she remembered the dagger in her obi. If he moved an inch she would stab him.

  ‘Where is Otsuné? What have you done to her?’ she whispered fiercely.

  ‘She’ll be back soon,’ he said. ‘I’m a … a visitor. I’m sorry I frightened you.’

  He knelt opposite her, keeping his eyes fixed on her warily, and she noticed that he held himself like a military man, knees apart and back very straight. His face was scarred and streaked with dirt but perfectly calm. He was looking at her appraisingly, eyebrows lifted, as if wondering what sort of creature it was that he had captured.

  Then she realized. He was probably a fugitive, a soldier of the northern army. That must be why the door was locked and the rain doors in place. He was on the run. He had more reason to be afraid than she did.

  ‘I won’t betray you,’ she said softly, her fear ebbing away. ‘We’re all from Edo here and loyal to the northern cause.’

  The man breathed out sharply and glowered at her from under his thatch of hair.

  ‘There is no northern cause,’ he said, his voice bitter. ‘It’s finished.’

  So he had fought up north, she thought. He might even have fought side by side with her husband. Perhaps he knew what had become of him. But the thought of her husband reminded her that that part of her life was over. Now she was a courtesan, her husband would never accept her back, no matter what happened.

  The man’s mouth twisted into a scowl. ‘I saw southern faces on the street out there,’ he muttered. ‘I heard their voices. You women sell your bodies to the enemy.’

  Hana recoiled as if she’d been hit. ‘We’ve all had to find ways to survive,’ she said at last, her voice shaking. ‘I’m alive, you’re alive. It’s best not to ask how.’

  The man’s shoulders slumped. ‘Forgive me,’ he said, and Hana felt a surge of sympathy. He had fought for their cause and been defeated. He might have been wounded, he might have had to commit all manner of terrible acts, and to return to Edo in rags, unable to hold his head high – it was impossible to imagine how he must feel. She reached out and laid her hand on his.

  ‘We’ve both suffered,’ she said gently. ‘But we’ve made it through, somehow. That’s all that matters.’

  He looked up at her and suddenly she was glad that she was dressed in a simple robe, like a maid, not in the gorgeous garments of a courtesan.

  ‘My name is Hana,’ she said, and smiled.

  24

  Yozo’s spine tingled as he felt the girl’s hand on his. In the gloom all he could see was the oval of her face, pale like the moon, and the black hair that hung loose down her back. He was aware of her softness, her gentle tones and calm presence, and the scent of her sleeves and hair. She was young – he could tell by her voice – and small, for when he had taken hold of her it had been like holding a bird.

  Her touch filled him with feelings he had forgotten existed. He had had another life once, he remembered now, where men did not fight and die and where there were soft-skinned women with gentle voices. Then his existence had seemed full of possibilities; now it had shrunk until it was just a matter of surviving.

  He had been trapped in this house for a good part of a day now and it was beginning to seem even worse than being locked in the bamboo cage. It was cramped and cluttered and, worst of all, that morning Marlin had insisted on closing the rain doors before he disappeared with his woman, leaving him stumbling in the dark, choking on charcoal smoke and the odour of singed hair. Yozo felt as if he’d been pitched into hell. He belonged on the ocean navigating a ship, or in Ezo battling the enemy alongside his men, or in the mountains with bear hunters; not here, stuck in a tiny house awaiting slaughter.

  He had been pacing up and down, cursing, when the banging started. Soldiers, he’d thought, pulling his dagger from his belt. Then he’d heard a woman’s voice and put it aside. His first thought had been to bundle her into the house before she alerted the neighbours, but it was only when he had her inside that he had begun to wonder who she was. Too refined to be a Yoshiwara girl had been his first thought, though he had only the haziest recollection of the women he’d met when his father had brought him here as a boy.

  And then she had put her hand on his. He knew he looked like a wild man and he’d behaved like one, yet she was not afraid of him.

  There was a rap at the door, then another – it was the signal he’d agreed on with Marlin. Yozo slid out the bolt and the big Frenchman stumbled through the door, bending nearly in half to avoid hitting his head on the lintel. His woman pattered in behind him, a bundle in each hand.

  ‘Ara! There’s no air in here!’ Otsuné cried, putting down her packages, unfurling her fan and flapping furiously. ‘Big brother, you must be suffocating! Hana, is that you?’

  Marlin stomped across the room and shoved back the rain doors. As air and light flooded in, Yozo turned, curious to see the girl’s face. She had run to greet Otsuné and as she knelt, bowing, sunlight etched her slender body and the black hair that tumbled down her back and lit up the design of white chrysanthemums on her indigo kimono.
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  Yozo drew a breath as he took in the tilt of the eyes, the delicate nose and small full mouth. He had been wrong; she was indeed a Yoshiwara girl. He could see it straight away in the confidence with which she carried herself and the carefree way she behaved around men. Far from kneeling in silence or running away and hiding at the back of the house like a samurai wife, she seemed to enjoy his attention; yet she had an innocence about her too, as if she had not been long in this profession.

  She turned to Marlin as if it was the first time she’d noticed him, then clapped her hands to her mouth and sprang back, wide-eyed, as though she’d seen a monster. The men started to laugh. For a moment Yozo saw his friend through her eyes – a huge-limbed figure with brawny hands, an enormous nose, startling blue eyes and tree-trunk legs, Marlin really did seem a giant in this doll’s house.

  Otsuné opened one of her bundles and took out rice wrapped in bamboo leaves and dishes of pickles, stewed aubergine and slabs of fried tofu. Twisting her hair into a knot, revealing the soft white flesh at the nape of her neck, Hana went to a trunk at the side of the room and brought out trays, chopsticks and condiments. The women laid the dishes on the trays and set them in front of Yozo and Marlin and the two men ate greedily, savouring each mouthful. It was months since they had had such a delicious meal.

  ‘You need a wash, my friend,’ said Marlin, wiping his moustache with the back of a hairy hand. ‘A wash and a shave. Then you’ll be civilized again.’

  Otsuné was darting around as if she’d been born for nothing else than to take care of her man and his friend. Now she threw herself on her knees in front of Yozo and leaned forward, studying his face.

  ‘Hana,’ she said. ‘Our Yozo needs to fit into the crowd so no one will notice him. He has to have a haircut. What do you think? Should he be a samurai or a merchant? Or should he have a western-style haircut like the southerners have?’

  Hana tilted her head to one side. ‘Well, he certainly has plenty of hair,’ she said. ‘Enough to do practically anything with.’ She turned to Yozo. ‘Otsuné knows all about cutting hair.’

  ‘I usually do women’s hair,’ said Otsuné, laughing. ‘But I’m sure I can manage.’

  Hana frowned. ‘I don’t think anyone would ever take you for a merchant.’ She was pretending to be serious but Yozo could see the smile lurking at the corners of her mouth. ‘You’re too lean. All the merchants I’ve ever met are fat and pale with wobbly stomachs because they spend so much time indoors counting their money. And you certainly shouldn’t be a samurai. You’d be getting into fights all the time. No,’ she said, sitting back on her heels. ‘I think you should be one of those lads who do guard duty and chase customers who don’t pay up. The locals will know you’re new but the clients won’t notice, and it’s the clients we need to worry about. Otsuné, you should introduce him to Auntie at the Corner Tamaya and she’ll give him a job. You could say he’s your cousin just up from the country – that’ll explain why he hasn’t been around before.’

  Otsuné gave Yozo a basin which she’d filled with warm water. He went outside to the back of the house, stripped down to his loincloth and washed as best he could.

  ‘And when you’re presentable you must go straight to the bathhouse,’ Hana added sternly when he came back in. Yozo scowled and looked away, infuriated at the hold she had over him already, the way she effortlessly charmed him, the way he couldn’t stop looking at her.

  He sat down and Otsuné trimmed his beard, then sharpened a razor on a stone and shaved his chin and cheeks, expertly wielding the long blade. Finally she set to work on his hair. He sat quietly as thick black tufts fell in piles on the cloth she had spread on the wooden floor, enjoying her soft touch as she bustled around, kneading his scalp and pushing him this way and that, creating unaccustomed lightness and coolness around his ears. And then there was Hana, in her cotton kimono, flitting about refilling their teacups. Yozo tried to ignore her, yet noticed how curiously she watched him, how her eyes widened as the last scraps of beard and locks of dusty hair disappeared and his young face was revealed, and how she grew shy when he met her eye, and looked away.

  As Otsuné stepped back to admire her work, Hana slipped over and knelt beside Yozo.

  ‘One day, big brother,’ she said, looking up at him, ‘you must tell me where you’ve been and what you’ve done. I want to know everything.’

  Her voice was soft and low. When she had been helping Otsuné, she had chattered in playful high-pitched tones like a Yoshiwara girl, but now she spoke so seriously that he had to answer.

  ‘I’ll tell you, I promise,’ he said. ‘One day.’

  He straightened his shoulders. He had to be careful, he told himself. This was no time to be sidetracked by a woman. He needed to find Enomoto and his other comrades.

  Otsuné’s second bundle contained neatly folded clothes and Yozo threw on a dark blue workman’s jacket, tucked his dagger in his belt, then rolled up a towel and knotted it round his head. The women sat back on their heels and looked at him, then at each other, and smiled.

  ‘Perfect,’ Otsuné said, turning to Marlin, who was lying on his back like a fallen tree trunk, filling half the room, his head propped on a pillow.

  Yozo sprang to his feet and took a step towards the door.

  ‘Not so fast, my friend,’ said Marlin, reaching up and grabbing his sleeve. ‘There are spies in the Yoshiwara and you’re a wanted man. Give me time to investigate before you start roaming around. People know me here.’

  ‘Please be careful,’ said Otsuné, looking up at Yozo with big eyes. ‘Don’t bring trouble down on us – not now that I’ve got my Jean back. Now the war’s over, the southerners know this is the first place fugitives will come. People say there are police on the street already, dressed as customers, mingling in the crowds.’ Tears glittered in her eyes.

  ‘I missed him so much,’ she said softly, laying her hand on Marlin’s massive thigh. ‘The Yoshiwara used to be a world to itself and the shogun’s men never came in, but these new men in power don’t respect the old ways.’

  Yozo sighed. He was touched that his friend, this gruff foreigner whom he had always thought of as a lonely exile in their land, should turn out to have a woman waiting for him – and such a devoted one.

  ‘I doubt if the police will pay the slightest attention to a mere servant when a gigantic Frenchman has turned up in town,’ he said. He patted Otsuné’s shoulder. ‘But don’t worry, I’ll wait an hour or two before I leave.’

  From the distance came the muffled boom of a temple bell, floating across the fields towards the small houses that lined the back alleys of the Yoshiwara. The sound reverberated through the small room, setting the paper doors clattering in their frames. Hana went pale.

  ‘I hadn’t realized it was so late,’ she whispered. ‘I wanted to talk to you so badly, Otsuné, but there’s no time now.’

  Otsuné stroked her hand. ‘I know what it was you wanted to ask me.’ She glanced around at the two men, leaned closer to Hana and lowered her voice. ‘This man everyone’s talking about – people say he’s a monster, but he’s just a man, richer than the others but with the same appetites. Make sure he has lots of food and lots of drink and everything will be fine. Come back tomorrow and tell me how it was.’

  Yozo looked from one to the other. He had no idea what they were talking about but Hana looked hunted suddenly, like a wild creature caught in a trap.

  ‘You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to,’ he said to her. ‘We’re here now, Marlin and I. We can protect you.’

  Marlin sat up. ‘Of course. We won’t let anyone hurt you,’ he declared in his deep bass voice.

  ‘I have to do what I’m told,’ Hana said sadly. ‘You were in the army, you men. You had to obey orders whether you wanted to or not. It’s the same for me.’ Yozo felt the touch of her fingers on his hand again. ‘But thank you,’ she added, as she bowed and made her farewells.

  On the threshold she paused, graceful in h
er indigo kimono, her hair swirling loose down her back, then slipped her bare feet into clogs and slid open the door. For a moment she was bathed in sunlight. Then the murmur of insects filled the room and she was gone.

  ‘She’s a beauty,’ Yozo said, shaking his head with a rueful smile.

  Marlin put his arm around Otsuné. Otsuné glanced at Yozo as if to check whether he was shocked at such a display of affection, then leaned against Marlin, turning her face to gaze up at him.

  ‘I have all the beauty I could want right here,’ Marlin said, smiling down at her.

  25

  Holding her parasol over her head with one hand and lifting her skirts with the other, Hana hurried along the grand boulevard. Since morning, red curtains had appeared over the doors of the houses and red lanterns had blossomed along the eaves, proclaiming the name ‘Saburosuké Kashima’. Wherever Hana looked she saw the grim brushed characters and they made her heart thump with foreboding.

  Every step she took was a step closer to the moment when she was to meet this Saburo. She tried to remember Otsuné’s advice but all she could think about was the events of the morning. She had never seen any man treat a woman as Marlin treated Otsuné, with such affection and tenderness. And then there was Yozo. She found herself smiling as she thought of him. She could tell he was brave, yet he was gentle too, so familiar in the way he looked yet utterly foreign in the way he behaved.

  She remembered how his face had changed as Otsuné shaved his beard and cut his hair. It was a manly face, muscular and deeply tanned with a wide brow and intelligent eyes – the face of a man she could trust. His words echoed in her mind: ‘I can protect you.’ To her husband she had been a chattel; to her clients, nothing but a plaything. No one before had ever offered to protect her.