The Courtesan and the Samurai

by Lesley Downer

  Autumn

  33

  The typhoon season had come and gone, the trees were changing colour and the leaves were beginning to fall. In the mornings frost sparkled on the Yoshiwara’s roofs and wooden walkways and paving stones. It was a time of cool air and brilliant blue skies, although along the alley where Otsuné lived the sun barely rose above the meagre houses.

  Sitting with Marlin in Otsuné’s little house, Yozo sighed and took a puff on his pipe. He was tired of exile, of this small square of five streets inhabited by painted women and outlawed men, with its nightly influx of drunken pleasure-seekers. He was impatient to get back to the real world.

  ‘I have news!’

  The door flew open and Ichimura burst in, his hair sticking out wildly around his head. Since the fight outside the Corner Tamaya he had become a regular visitor.

  ‘Admiral Enomoto,’ he said panting, kicking off his sandals and throwing himself down on the tatami beside Yozo and Marlin. ‘We found him, and General Otori too!’

  Yozo leaned forward, listening hard, a grin spreading across his face.

  ‘They’re not in Kodenmacho Prison after all.’ Ichimura snatched up a cup of sake and gulped it down. ‘They’re in a prisoner-of-war camp in the castle grounds, inside the Hitotsubashi Gate – the Place of Disciplinary Confinement, they call it. There are five camps with a couple of hundred men in each, dreadful places, all of them.’

  ‘So you saw Enomoto and Otori?’ demanded Yozo.

  ‘No. I heard all this from Eijiro, one of our men. He grew his hair to make him look like a doctor and fooled the guards into letting him in.’

  ‘But how are they?’

  ‘He says they’re in reasonable health, a bit thin, but in good spirits.’

  ‘And the prison, what’s it like, what’s the layout?’ Marlin butted in in his deep grumble, his heavy brow creased in a frown.

  ‘It’s a terrible place, Eijiro says, filthy and infested, and there is not much food – rice and soup, that’s all. And it stinks. The lower ranks are crowded into a long hall with two rows of tatami mats, one man, one mat. Some of the men are wounded and a lot more are sick, but at least the admiral and the general have their own room. Eijiro is going back today with food, blankets and medicine, as much as he can carry.’

  ‘We’ve got to get Enomoto and Otori out, and as many of the others as we can.’

  ‘That won’t be easy. The castle grounds are well fortified and guarded, with massive walls. But there are rumours that the admiral and the general are to be transferred to Kodenmacho Prison quite soon.’

  Yozo put down his pipe and leaned forward.

  ‘Do you know when?’

  ‘Within ten days. Eijiro’s doing his best to find out more.’

  ‘You know there’s an execution ground at Kodenmacho Prison,’ said Marlin. He sat like the master of the house, topping up the sake cups, poking the glowing embers in the brazier and handing round dried rice crackers. Yozo took a mouthful of sake and raised an eyebrow.

  ‘You’ve been in the prison?’

  ‘We French officers worked for the shogun when we first came to Japan. We went everywhere and saw everything.’

  ‘Well, they won’t execute them behind closed doors,’ said Yozo. ‘That’s not the way we do things here, nor in your country either.’ He knew that well enough; he’d seen the guillotine in action in Paris. ‘If they’re planning executions they’ll do them in public, as a warning to the people, and they’ll stick their heads on the spikes on Japan Bridge.’

  ‘We’ll just have to make sure that doesn’t happen, won’t we,’ said Marlin, getting up and going to Otsuné’s work area. He emerged a few moments later with a roll of paper and a brush and handed them to Ichimura.

  ‘They’ll be taking them from Hitotsubashi Gate to the prison.’ Spreading the paper on the floor, Ichimura put weights on the corners, ground some ink and started to draw a rough map. ‘They’ll have to take the Tokiwa Bridge across the inner moat then go straight down here through Kanda,’ he went on, drawing a line to mark the main road. ‘They’re loyal to the shogun down there, loyal to the death. If we attack the procession they’ll be with us. We can count on them.’

  ‘We’ll need to get a message to Enomoto and Otori,’ Yozo said.

  ‘Enomoto gave himself up,’ Marlin said, waving a large finger. ‘He may not want you to free him. He may consider it a matter of honour to go to his death with his head high. He’s a proud man.’

  ‘Then he’s wrong,’ said Yozo brusquely. ‘If we free him, it will be a major blow to the new regime. A lot of northerners will gather round him and it will give the resistance a new lease of life. I’ll spring him whether he wants it or not.’

  ‘You’re on the run yourself, don’t forget that,’ said Marlin. ‘You’ll end up with your head on Japan Bridge alongside Enomoto’s.’

  ‘That’s a risk I’m ready to take,’ said Yozo, reaching for the sake flask and topping up the men’s cups. ‘We’ll need to check the exact day and the route the procession will take. They’ll be expecting an ambush and will probably make a last-minute change of plan, so we’ll need to take that into account too. What weapons do we have?’

  ‘The militia headquarters is sealed off and under guard, but I sneaked in one night,’ Ichimura said. ‘I picked up Dreyse needle guns, Minié rifles, handguns and some serviceable swords and daggers.’

  ‘Good man,’ said Yozo, slapping the youth on the shoulder. He’d be glad to get his hands on a rifle again, he thought.

  The men sat in silence for a while, sipping sake. Yozo tapped out his pipe and kneaded a plug of tobacco in his fingers, frowning. Marlin shifted and cursed, then stretched out his long French legs, massaging his knees with a big hand.

  ‘So what’s going on in the city?’ he asked at last. ‘There’ve been rumours around here about a pawnbroker and a suspicious death.’

  ‘Oh, that.’ Ichimura grinned. ‘Every time you go to the barber, it’s all you hear.’

  ‘You, go to the barber, with that hair?’ Yozo asked.

  ‘Well, OK, every time I go to the bathhouse. You’d think people would have something better to talk about.’ He leaned forward. ‘Rat poison,’ he hissed. ‘The pawnbroker got ill all of a sudden and his hair began to fall out, then he started bleeding from the nose and ears and died within hours.’

  ‘Nasty way to go,’ grunted Marlin.

  ‘His wife, was it?’ Yozo asked.

  ‘No one knows. He was a mean old fellow. There were a lot of people who would have liked to see him dead. It could have been someone who owed him money and that he was putting pressure on to pay up, or a gangster he cheated. Anyway, the police are on the case. I’ll keep you posted.’

  He gave a cheerful high-pitched laugh and Yozo grinned at him. Sometimes he forgot how young Ichimura was.

  After Ichimura had left, Yozo and Marlin sat together, puffing on their pipes. Yozo tipped his head back and emptied his sake cup, enjoying the sensation of the hot liquid in his throat. He could feel the sake warming his cheeks and loosening his lips, making the world seem a gentler place.

  ‘You have your doubts about this rescue operation, I can see that,’ said Marlin, looking at him hard. Since they’d been in the Yoshiwara the Frenchman had grown plump and sleek, like a well-fed cat. It was obvious he was happy to be back with his woman and not in any hurry to be on the road again.

  ‘I know it’s a hare-brained plan but we have to do it,’ Yozo said. ‘We owe it to Enomoto and Otori. But you don’t have to come, Jean; in fact we’d be better off without you. You’re too conspicuous.’

  Marlin nodded. ‘I’m ready to come with you if you want me to. But you’re right – it won’t do you any good to have a hulking Frenchman drawing attention to himself.’

  ‘And you have to keep yourself safe for Otsuné’s sake.’

  ‘She’s a good woman, none better,’ said Marlin, nodding his head thoughtfully. ‘But it’s not just that it’s a risky
enterprise – you’ve never been one to baulk at taking risks. It’s Hana, isn’t it?’

  Yozo nodded. He knew he had to do whatever it took to save his friends, but he hated the thought of Hana falling into Saburo’s hands, all the more so because he’d promised to protect her. And the dreadful secret that he had to keep from her, that he was guilty of her husband’s death, bound him to her all the more strongly.

  ‘Otsuné says they’re keeping a tighter watch on her than ever,’ said Marlin. ‘It sounds to me as if Auntie’s planning something.’

  ‘She’s been like a prisoner ever since that pig made his offer,’ said Yozo. ‘They’re determined to make sure she doesn’t slip out of their grasp. I visit her whenever I can and I pick up a lot of news in the kitchens. Saburo is due back very soon.’ He clenched his fists as he thought of Saburo and the harm he might do Hana.

  ‘Brute force won’t work, my friend,’ Marlin said. ‘There’ll be the Corner Tamaya lads to deal with as well as Saburo and his thugs if we try to get her out openly. We’ll have to use cunning.’

  Yozo frowned, thinking of how closely guarded Hana was.

  ‘There’ll be the feast to end all feasts when he shows up. That’s when Auntie will let her out of her rooms. She’ll have to get dressed up to take part in the …’ He twisted his mouth, hating to say the words.

  ‘The ceremony of union.’

  Yozo nodded. ‘Saburo’s going to take over the Yoshiwara for the whole night. If we can create enough chaos, there should be a chance to get her out.’

  But what if the day that they were to free Enomoto turned out to be the day of Saburo’s feast and he had to choose between them?

  Yozo rubbed his eyes and shook his head. He couldn’t imagine what he would do then.

  34

  The day had hardly begun, yet Hana’s rooms were already full of women – maids sweeping, dusting and piling up bedding, and attendants crowding around, exclaiming over the lacquerware, tea ceremony utensils and sumptuous kimonos Saburo had sent. Hana was sitting still, trying not to think about the evening ahead, when she heard shrieks of excitement, the tinkling of tiny bells and childish feet racing along the corridor. The door burst open and Chidori and Namiji stood side by side, plump hands clapped over their mouths, eyes wide, their huge sleeves flapping like butterflies’ wings.

  They scampered across the room to the paper screens that partitioned off the balcony and pushed them back so that light poured in, picking out the red and orange autumn leaves arranged in the vase in the alcove, and falling on the gold-painted walls, the delicate shelves, the hanging scroll and the trunk full of belongings packed up ready to go. Suddenly seeing all these familiar things in the glare of day, Hana realized with a dreadful sense of certainty that Saburo would take her away from the Yoshiwara and she would never see any of them again.

  The children threw themselves down on their knees on the balcony and peered up at the men in loincloths and blue-dyed work jackets with hammers tucked in their belts who clambered around outside, stringing lanterns along the eaves. Hana didn’t have to look to know that every lantern was painted with the characters ‘Saburosuké Kashima’. Loincloth-clad figures shinned up ladders propped against the cherry trees, fixing paper blossoms to the branches until the street was a sea of pink and white, as if spring had come again. Every corner was alive with voices and laughter, the jangle of shamisens and the sound of singing.

  She closed her eyes and pictured Yozo’s face, his broad forehead, clear brown eyes and full, sensual mouth. He had come to visit just the previous day, after making sure no one was around.

  Not long after Auntie had issued her prohibition against him coming to her rooms, Tama had declared haughtily that he was the only person she could possibly trust with messages to Hana and thereafter made sure she had a message for her at least once a day. He had become part of the Corner Tamaya now, he had told her, and was there most evenings, ushering in foreigners, and the ordinary clients too enjoyed talking to him. He had even become friends with her old favourite, Masaharu, despite the fact they had been on opposing sides in the war. The servants too knew him well and often entrusted him with messages for Hana. He knew the rhythms of the house, the times when it was throbbing with people and the times when it was empty.

  Hana had found a pretext to send the maids away and for a few precious moments they had been alone together. Wrapped in his arms, she had clung to him like a child and pressed her head against his chest, feeling his warmth and the beating of his heart, sure this was the last time she would ever see him.

  ‘Don’t be afraid, this is not goodbye,’ he had said, drawing back and looking at her, wiping away her tears. ‘I told you I would protect you and I will, I’ll keep my word. I’m doing all I can to find a way to get you out of here, I promise you.’

  She had looked at him incredulously, suddenly hearing what he was saying.

  ‘You mean … ?’

  ‘During the banquet, when everyone’s drunk or in an opium stupor, there’ll be a chance for you to slip away. I’ll be somewhere near by to help you.’

  Hana had taken his hands and pressed them to her lips, shaking her head. ‘No, no! It’s madness, it’s far too dangerous. It’s not just Saburo, there’ll be guards everywhere, and even if we managed to get out of the banqueting hall the Great Gate will be locked.’

  ‘Jean freed me from a bamboo cage surrounded by a battalion of soldiers. If he could do that for me, I can get you to safety too. And there’ll be others to help us. I’ll find a way.’

  He had taken her in his arms and held her close and she felt him run his fingers through her hair and the warm touch of his mouth on her forehead and cheeks. Then their lips met and she kissed him greedily. For a moment all her troubles faded away and she forgot everything in the intensity of being with him.

  ‘If I could escape, I’d go anywhere with you,’ she had breathed, allowing herself a moment of wild hope.

  ‘I’m a fugitive,’ Yozo whispered. ‘How can I ask you to share such a life with me?’

  ‘All this means nothing.’ She looked around at the glimmering gold screens and the scrolls, the tea ceremony utensils and the kimonos spread on racks. In the months she had been trapped in her rooms they had come to seem like shackles tying her down. ‘It doesn’t even belong to me. Auntie would claim most of it as her own.’

  Their faces were so close their breath seemed to mingle and she had reached out and gently touched the scar that marked his cheek. His skin was warm and dry beneath her fingertips and she could feel the stubble on his chin.

  ‘Please be careful,’ she had said. ‘I know they won’t hurt me – I’m worth too much to them alive – but I’m afraid for you.’

  ‘I’m not so easy to kill,’ he had said, smiling, and pulled her close to him again and stroked her hair. In the distance she could hear the rattling of the screens in their frames, clogs clattering raggedly along the road outside, autumn insects shrilling. If she was safe anywhere in the world, she thought, it was here in his arms.

  Then there were voices approaching the room and he had had to slip away. Left alone, she had shed tears. It seemed too cruel to have found such closeness, only to have it torn away.

  She knelt in front of the tarnished bronze mirror on the mirror stand and stared at herself. This face that men desired so much – all it had brought her was unhappiness. She had committed the very folly that Otsuné and Tama had warned her against – she had lost her heart, hopelessly and completely. If she had not, perhaps she could have just gone with Saburo, been glad of his wealth and thought of something else when he lay on her. But she knew now that she could never accept such a life.

  The shadows of the candlesticks crept slowly across the floor. Time was moving on, bringing her closer and closer to the moment when she would have to face Saburo. Again she remembered the touch of Yozo’s lips on hers, the feel of his firm body, and the tender things he’d said to her.

  ‘I wish you weren’t going,’ sa
id Kawagishi. She turned away, pretending to busy herself with the tubs of make-up, and brushed her hand across her face. ‘Maybe one day I’ll meet someone like Saburo too,’ she whispered, sniffing.

  ‘I’d take you with me if I could,’ Hana said, and meant it.

  ‘Saburo must be richer than anybody in the whole world,’ said Kawanagi. She reached out a thin finger and touched the sleeve of a kimono thick with gold thread, a hungry look in her eyes. To these girls, Saburo’s wealth made him irresistibly attractive. They didn’t care that he was old and fat, they didn’t notice his small eyes and bulbous cheeks, all they saw was riches. Hana had captured the man every girl in the quarter desired – he had even bought her her freedom – and they seemed bewildered that she was not more excited at her good fortune.

  Hana looked at them. Kawagishi’s face was pale and pinched and Kawanagi was painfully thin. They both looked beaten, as if they had long since given up hope, as if they knew from bitter experience that it was woman’s lot to suffer and it would be foolish to expect anything more of life. Hana frowned. That was not her destiny, she told herself sternly, and she must do all she could to take her fate into her own hands.

  ‘He must have a huge house,’ said Kawanagi.

  ‘He probably has lots of houses,’ said Kawagishi wonderingly. ‘He’ll have a house built specially for you in the grounds of his main mansion.’

  They both looked at her, wide-eyed, as if they couldn’t begin to imagine such bliss.

  ‘You’ll be his favourite concubine, just think of that, and have his children,’ said Kawanagi, a smile lighting her thin face. Hana tried to smile in return, but she was so weighted down with foreboding it was hard to pay attention to their chatter.