Black Lotus

by Laura Joh Rowland

  Midori exclaimed in bewilderment and joy. Hirata embraced her the way she’d imagined in her secret fantasies; his eyes smoldered with desire. Midori’s whole body tingled at his touch. Moaning, she leaned back against Hirata. Such a miracle to have him at last! Midori didn’t care how he’d gotten here, or who saw them.

  Novices and priests arched, writhed, intertwined limbs, and thrust against one another. Groans and cries rose above the chanting that emanated from nowhere and everywhere. The nuns on the altar stroked Anraku’s organ; it swelled and lifted.

  “Come close,” Anraku said, his voice hoarse with excitement. “Release the spiritual energy that dwells within me.”

  Couples moved toward him. Hirata whispered to Midori, “I love you. You are mine. I am yours.”

  The words filled Midori with bliss. When he led her to the altar, she didn’t resist. She would do anything for him, anything for Anraku, who’d given Hirata to her. The couples crowded around the altar, chanting, “Praise the glory of the Black Lotus!”

  Anraku stood, chest heaving, glistening with sweat, as the nuns each clasped a hand around his organ and pumped him. Suddenly he tensed, threw back his head, flung out his arms, and bellowed, “Let my power flow from me to you!”

  His seed spurted. Hirata held Midori tighter. She cried out in heartfelt bliss, all her romantic dreams fulfilled. Uproar from the crowd echoed them.

  The nuns on the altar clothed Anraku in his brocade robe. He held his fists out to the crowd. “Come and receive my spiritual force!” he shouted.

  He opened his fists. Blood trickled from the palms. The crowd surged forward. Novices eagerly licked at Anraku’s hands; blood smeared their faces, stained their robes. Midori’s dizziness increased, but Hirata held her upright. Will and caution deserted her as Anraku pressed his palm to her mouth.

  She swallowed thick, salty blood. Anraku, the nuns, and the priests chanted the Black Lotus Sutra, but Midori couldn’t comprehend the words. Lights, smoke, and voices blurred into a single overpowering sensation. Drowsiness descended upon Midori; her vision dimmed. She was remotely aware of Hirata lifting her in his arms, carrying her away. She realized that something bad had happened, but she’d lost the power to appreciate the difference between right and wrong. Something had gone very amiss with her plans … what those plans were, she couldn’t recall. As Midori sank into dark unconsciousness, fleeting thoughts surfaced in her mind: She must stay at the Black Lotus Temple. She wished she could remember why.

  27

  If you are imprisoned,

  Hands and feet bound by chains,

  The Bodhisattva of Infinite Power will release you.

  —FROM THE BLACK LOTUS SUTRA

  A full moon pocked and scored with shadows broke through veils of cloud above Edo Jail, which dominated the dark, empty streets in northeast Nihonbashi. Lights burned in watchtowers along the jail’s high stone walls, and within passages patrolled by guards. A bonfire of refuse smoked in a courtyard. Wails issued from the dilapidated prison buildings.

  In a cell in the prison, Haru lay on a pile of straw. Moonlight filtered through the tiny barred window onto her frightened face. Shivering in the cold, she hugged herself and pulled her bare feet under her skimpy muslin robe. The stench of human waste nauseated her. Up and down the corridors outside her locked door, other female prisoners moaned, coughed, and snored. A woman wailed, “Help! Let me out!” The pleas echoed Haru’s own desperation. She clung to hope that had waned as the hours passed.

  After her arrest, she’d struggled and screamed so wildly that the soldiers had bound and gagged her. They’d transported her along the streets on an oxcart, through jeering crowds. When she arrived at the prison, the jailers had untied her and thrown her into this cell. Haru had beat her fists on the door, rampaged around the cell, shrieked, wept, and tried to climb the wall to the window until exhaustion overcame her. She’d fallen asleep, then awakened after dark to lucid misery. Now, weak from hunger and thirst, her body aching, she thought of the events that had brought her here.

  She’d worked so hard to convince Reiko that she was good and innocent. Reiko was like a kind, loving older sister, and Haru was grateful to Reiko for trying to help. If only the sosakan-sama hadn’t found her parents! And if only Abbess Junketsu-in, Dr. Miwa, Priest Kumashiro, and the orphans hadn’t said bad things about her. They and the sosakan-sama hated her and wanted her to die. Now Haru pinned her hopes of rescue on High Priest Anraku.

  When she’d first come to the Black Lotus Temple, Anraku had selected her to be his personal attendant. She’d served his meals, run errands for him, and become his lover. Her position as one of his favorites gave her privileged status. She didn’t have to do chores, spend long hours studying and praying, or obey rules. Anraku had given her what she most wanted and life had until then denied her: to be treated as special. Her parents had considered her just another pair of hands to help out in the noodle shop. Her husband had treated her like a slave. Only Anraku understood that she deserved better.

  “Your path through life is the one that interweaves and unites all other paths,” he’d told her. “You are the lightning that begins the storm, the spark that shall ignite the conflagration, the weight that shall tip the balance between good and bad. The ultimate destiny of the Black Lotus depends upon you.”

  He’d never explained what he meant, but Haru was content to serve him and enjoy her privileges. Anraku was beautiful, wise, and strong, and she loved him. His power had shielded her from other people’s disapproval and the consequences of her behavior. Haru had believed in her importance to him and relied on his protection, but now it seemed that Anraku had forsaken her.

  After the fire at the cottage, Haru had expected Anraku to make everything all right for her. But instead, Anraku had let the police interrogate her and take her away from him. At Zojo Temple and Magistrate Ueda’s house, Haru had waited in vain for him to bring her home. Had Kumashiro, Junketsu-in, and Miwa turned him against her?

  Terror and misery roiled inside Haru. She tried to tell herself that Anraku wouldn’t listen to accusations from her enemies. With his divine powers, wouldn’t he know that what had happened at the cottage had been a necessary event along the path of her life? Yet perhaps he’d had a new vision that altered his feelings toward her. A sob choked Haru. She could think of no other reason to explain why she was now alone and in grave peril.

  The woman down the corridor stopped wailing. The prison slumbered; in the distance, dogs howled. Haru closed her eyes. As sleep overtook her, she drifted to another place and time. She was struggling with Commander Oyama in the cottage. He pushed her down on the floor, laughing at her screams, his fleshy face red with lust as he pawed her …

  Suddenly the scene changed to the bedchamber of the house where Haru had lived during her marriage. Oyama turned into her husband: withered, toothless, irate. Haru wanted to push him off her, but his servants held her down. Grunting, he thrust himself between her legs …

  She ran through darkness. Fire exploded behind her, and she heard pursuing footsteps. Now she was standing on a pile of lit coals, tied to a stake. Flames burned her robe; angry spectators cheered. In the rising fire she saw an image of priests tearing a little boy from the arms of Nurse Chie, who screamed, “No, no!” The flames leapt higher, searing her skin, igniting her hair …

  With a gasp, Haru bolted awake and upright, her heart pounding. Even as she realized that she’d been dreaming, quick, stealthy footsteps came down the corridor. She heard a metallic scraping sound as the iron bar that secured the door to her cell withdrew. Instinctive alarm launched Haru to her feet. She scuttled into the cell’s back corner and stood still, arms pressed to her sides, trying to make herself invisible.

  The door cracked open, and they slipped into the cell—three men wearing cloths tied over their hair and the lower portions of their faces. The last one in shut the door quietly. Haru saw their eyes glint in the moonlight and fix on her. She could scent aggression in their s
weaty, pungent odor, hear malevolent purpose in their harsh breathing. Squealing in fear, she shrank into the corner. The tallest man swiftly crossed the room toward her. He seized the front of her robe, jerked her close to him, and clamped a hand over her mouth.

  “Don’t fight, and don’t make a sound,” he whispered hoarsely, “or I’ll kill you. Understand?”

  He held her trapped between his body and the walls. His hard fingers squeezed her jaw shut and mashed her lips against her teeth. As terror constricted her chest, Haru nodded.

  “I’ve come to tell you what you’re going to do,” the man said, his mouth moving behind the cloth. “So listen well.”

  Ham didn’t recognize his eyes or his voice. The other men standing on either side of him seemed vaguely familiar, but with their features hidden Haru couldn’t be certain.

  “When you go to your trial, you will confess to murdering those people and burning the cottage,” said her captor.

  An involuntary mewl of protest issued from Haru’s throat. The man shoved her, banging her head against the wall. The blow stunned Haru; her ears rang.

  “You think you can save yourself by saying you didn’t do it,” he said as if reading her thoughts, “but if you don’t confess, and the magistrate spares your life, you’ll come to wish you had been executed after all.”

  Who was he, and why did he want her to die? The questions flitted unanswered through Haru’s confusion and fright.

  “We’re going to give you a taste of what you can expect unless you do as I say,” the man hissed.

  He yanked her out of the corner, spun her around, and flung her away from him. His companions caught her. She cried out and clawed at them, but one man locked muscular arms around her while the other gagged her with a cloth. Haru retched. Her heart thudded in panic. The two men held her by the wrists; stretched between them, she twisted and struggled

  The man who’d spoken struck her cheek. Haru’s head snapped back. Pain shot through her face. He hit her nose and ears; more pain rocked her. Warm, salty blood streamed out of her nostrils, clogged her throat. Certain that they would hurt her even more if she made noise, Haru fought the urge to scream. She wept while the man attacked her with a short leather whip that lashed lines of agony across her breasts and stomach, her back and buttocks and legs. The only sounds in the cell were the crack of the whip, her tormenters’ harsh breathing, and her own muffled sobs.

  Then the two men let go of her. Haru collapsed, her whole body quivering in agony. Now the men were rolling her on her back, tearing open her robe, spreading her legs. The tall man straddled her, and reality merged with the horrors of her nightmare.

  “No!” she pleaded through the gag.

  She flailed, but the other men grabbed her wrists and ankles. They held her still while their comrade shoved his organ into her. Haru gave a shrill cry of pain. He smacked her head.

  “Quiet!” he growled, plunging and heaving.

  He was Commander Oyama; he was her husband. His foul stench sickened Haru as the brutal mating continued. Gritting her teeth, she thought how much she hated them all.

  “Confess, or expect much worse than this,” he rasped in her ear.

  But she could never tell all that she’d done and seen, because she would lose what mattered as much as her life.

  “If you escape execution, I’ll come after you,” the man said. “Wherever you go, whatever you do, I’ll find you. I’ll punish you until you plead for the mercy of death. Then I’ll kill you.”

  He grunted, and Haru felt his hardness break inside her. As he withdrew and rose from her, she moaned in relief, but then one of the other men mounted her. Again came the savage thrusting, the pain. And again, when the third man took his turn. Haru’s crotch was sore and slick with blood. The frantic tossing of her head loosened the gag.

  “Stop! Leave me alone!” she screamed.

  She heard stirrings in the other cells as prisoners awakened. The man on top of her froze.

  “Help! Help!” Coherency deserted her, and she shrieked in hysterical bursts.

  Down the corridor came hurrying footsteps. Male voices conversed somewhere nearby. The man leapt off Haru, cursing. As her assailants rushed to the door, the tall one paused.

  “Remember what I told you,” he said.

  Haru kept shrieking; she couldn’t stop. Three guards burst into the cell, carrying lanterns that lit the room. Through a daze of pain and tears, Haru saw their shocked faces as they stared down at her exposed body.

  Her assailants were gone.

  28

  Those who are not, fully versed in all matters

  Cannot identify the truth, from among ten million falsehoods.

  —FROM THE BLACK LOTUS SUTRA

  The next morning, before Reiko could to go to the palace women’s quarters to look for Midori, she passed Sano’s office and heard Hirata’s voice say, “There’s news from Edo Jail. Haru was attacked last night.”

  Alarm halted Reiko. She quickly backtracked and entered the office. Inside, Sano was seated at his desk, and Hirata kneeling opposite him. The pair saw her, and their faces took on uneasy expressions.

  “Please excuse us. We’re discussing business,” Sano said.

  He and Reiko had spent another night in separate rooms, and Reiko guessed from his drawn features that he hadn’t slept any better than she. His tone clearly said that he didn’t want her there, but she ignored the hint.

  “What’s happened to Haru?” she said.

  “Haru isn’t your concern anymore,” Sano said with controlled patience. “Please go.”

  Reiko didn’t budge. After a tense moment, Sano reluctantly nodded to Hirata.

  “The prison guards found Haru screaming in her cell,” Hirata said. “She’d been beaten.”

  “Who did it?” Reiko said, horrified.

  “There was no sign of her attacker,” Hirata said, “and Haru seems unable to speak.”

  Sano rose. “We’d better look into this.”

  “I’m going with you,” Reiko said. She would talk to Midori later. Right now she had to offer Haru whatever help she could.

  “A wife can’t tag along on official business,” Sano said, visibly irritated. “And Edo Jail is no place for you.”

  “No harm will come to me as long as you’re there to protect me,” Reiko pointed out. “It sounds as though Haru is in the same condition she was in after the fire. If she won’t talk to the jailers, she probably won’t talk to you, either. She needs someone who will at least listen to her side of the story.”

  Sano hesitated, and Reiko saw him weighing his desire to keep her apart from Haru against his need for facts. At last he nodded in resignation. “All right.”

  An hour later, they arrived at Edo Jail. Sano, Hirata, and three detectives rode their horses across the rickety wooden bridge that spanned the canal fronting the prison. Guards followed on foot, escorting Reiko’s palanquin. Outside the iron-banded gate, the riders dismounted, and Sano went to the guardhouse to speak to the sentries. Reiko stepped out of the palanquin, looking curiously up at cracked, mossy stone walls and dilapidated roof gables that rose above the slums of Kodemmacho district. This notorious place of death and defilement didn’t look as bad as she’d imagined.

  The sentries opened the gate. Sano and his men walked into the compound. Following with her guards, Reiko entered a courtyard. There loitered rough-looking prison guards, armed with daggers and clubs. They bowed to Sano and stared rudely at Reiko. Wishing she weren’t so conspicuous, she stuck close behind her husband until he and Hirata entered a dingy wooden building. As Reiko waited, she heard lewd mutters from the prison guards. She became aware that the place stank of sewage. Piteous cries drifted from the tiny barred windows of a huge fortress with dingy plaster walls. Reiko shuddered. At last Sano and Hirata returned, accompanied by an older samurai, presumably the warden. He frowned at Reiko in surprise.

  “My wife has come to administer charity to the prisoner,” Sano explained curtly.
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  The warden’s face assumed a blank expression that hid whatever he thought about the unconventional behavior of the shogun’s ssakan-sama. He said, “Please come with me.”

  As the whole party moved toward the fortress, Reiko listened to the conversation between Sano and the warden, who walked with Hirata several paces ahead of her.

  “Have you found out who hurt Haru, or why?” Sano said.

  “Not yet,” the warden said.

  “What is Haru’s condition?”

  “She’s very shaken and still won’t talk.”

  They reached the prison fortress, and sentries opened the heavy door. A cacophony of screams and moans burst upon Reiko. As she followed Sano and the other men down a labyrinthine corridor, the stink of feces, urine, vomit, and rotting garbage engulfed her; flies swarmed. She held her sleeve over her nose. In the meager sunlight that shone through high windows, she saw dirty water leaking from under the closed doors of the cells that lined the corridor. Within these Reiko heard women muttering, pacing, thumping the walls. She lifted the hem of her kimono out of the filth and trudged on.

  The warden opened the door of a cell, then stood aside to let Sano and Hirata enter. Reiko slipped in after them. She saw Haru lying on a pile of straw on the floor, facing away from the door. There were raw welts on her bare legs and bloodstains on her gray robe. Her body shook in continuous tremors. Appalled, Reiko forgot her own discomfort.

  “Haru-san!” she exclaimed, moved by pity.

  The girl turned her head. Reddish-purple bruises ringed both eyes. Her nose and lips were swollen and caked with blood. At the sight of Sano and Hirata, she recoiled in terror. Then she saw Reiko. A weak, plaintive cry issued from her. Heedless of the dirty floor, Reiko knelt and gathered Haru in her arms. Haru sobbed and clung to her, while Reiko angrily eyed the warden, who’d let this happen.