Gai-Jin

by James Clavell

  “So.” Koiko looked at Sumomo, uneasily fascinated by her, her direct look and manner and strength. Since she had agreed to allow her to stay five days ago, there had been almost no opportunity to talk alone. Now it was time. She opened a mental compartment: Katsumata.

  Oh, my friend, what have you done to me?

  He had waylaid her during her visit to the Kyōto mama-san who had, at the instigation of Meikin, her own mama-san in Yedo, arranged maids, hairdresser, masseuses while she was here. Only Teko and a maid had travelled with her from Yedo.

  “I ask a lifetime favor,” Katsumata had said.

  “No, you must not!” she had said, shocked to see him, shocked that he would endanger her with such a clandestine meeting and shocked that he would ask such a favor of her that surely must have dire consequences. Once granted, no other favor could ever be asked of the same person, the ensuing debt enormous. “We agreed when Lord Toranaga Yoshi honored me, all personal contacts between us should cease, except in an emergency. We agreed.”

  “Yes, hence the lifetime favor I ask.”

  Seven years ago, in Yedo, when she was fifteen, Katsumata had been her first client. Quickly he had become a lot more: friend, guru and consummate teacher. He had opened her eyes to the world, to the importance of the real world, as well as the Floating World. Over the years he had taught her the tea ceremony, the art of debating, calligraphy, about poetry and inner meanings of literature, politics, and regaled her with his ideas and plans for the future, how his small band of acolyte samurai would dominate the land, would force through sonno-joi, and, in time, showed her how there was a vital place for her in the jigsaw called sonno-joi. “As a courtesan of supreme rank you will be a confidante of the powerful, as wife of one of them, you’ll marry one, never fear, and have samurai sons and be indispensable to the new future and a major part of its power, never forget it!”

  Meikin, her mama-san, was an adherent so of course she had agreed, her imagination devoured by his bravery and daring and his band of shishi, the rise of their fortunes.

  “Our fortunes have ebbed,” he had said, and told her about the ambush last night and his escape with two others. “We were betrayed—I do not know by whom but we have to scatter—for the time being.”

  “Forty shishi spiked?” she whispered, appalled.

  “Forty. Most of them leaders. Only three of us escaped, another shishi and a girl—a ward of mine. Listen, Koiko-chan, there’s not much time. The lifetime favor I ask is for you to guard this girl while you stay in Kyōto, take her into your household, even back to Yedo with you an—”

  “Oh, but as much as I would like to, so sorry, that would be very difficult, the General Akeda is very particular about people. He would personally interview her—he did with all my other helpers,” she said as nicely as she could, inwardly horrified that he dared to make such a dangerous suggestion to her that she harbor a shishi escapee, however innocent. “It would be very diff—”

  “Of course it would be difficult. But you will be able to arrange this without having him see her.”

  “I do not think that possible and then there is Lord Yoshi.” She had left that hanging, frantically hoping he would withdraw the request but he had continued softly, watching her with his intense, compelling eyes, saying that Sumomo would be safe with her, that she was samurai, the affianced of a very important shishi, a woman to be trusted: “So sorry, but I ask you to do this for sonno-joi; she is to be trusted. Any problem, send her away. Any task she will do … sorry, Koiko-chan, I must go. A lifetime favor, as an old friend.”

  “Wait. If … I will have to consult with General Akeda, but even if he can be avoided, certainly I must ask my household, I will have to consult them of course, but what am I to say about her? To the General or to them, I do not know these Kyōto people, or anything about them.”

  “Their mama-san guarantees they are to be trusted,” he had said with utter conviction. “I asked her and she approves of this, Koiko, or I would not suggest it. Tell them the truth, that Sumomo is simply a headstrong girl and her guardian—an old, old client—wants her curbed and trained in useful, feminine arts. I cannot take her with me and want her protected. I have an obligation to her fiancé. She will obey you in everything.”

  Koiko trembled at the danger she had put herself into, as well as those she was responsible for, Teko and her attendants: four maids, a hairdresser, and a masseuse. Fortunately they had agreed to have this stranger in their midst and to help her to change her ways—and Akeda’s scrutiny had failed to detect any flaw.

  Ah, Katsumata, you knew I could refuse you nothing, she thought. Curious how quickly you went beyond needing my body, a few months, wanting instead to possess and expand my mind. I’m still bound by hoops of iron, deep in your debt. Without you and the knowledge you gave me I would not be at the pinnacle I am now—and able to beguile the greatest man in the land.

  “Sit down, Sumomo,” she said. “We have a little time now before I have to go. We cannot be overheard here.”

  “Thank you.”

  “My attendants are concerned about you.”

  “Please excuse me if I have not been correct.”

  Koiko smiled. “The maids wonder if you have a tongue in your head, all agree your gentility needs improving, and all can understand a guardian wanting you improved.”

  “I need improving,” Sumomo said, smiling.

  Koiko’s eyes crinkled. The young woman opposite her was not unattractive, her body lithe and strong, the face without makeup, the bloom of youth and health making up for that deficiency. Her hair is in good condition but needs styling, she thought critically. The Kyōto style would suit her, lots of good oils on her hands and arms, some shading on her fine cheekbones, a touch of color on her lips. The girl has promise. We must bathe together and then I would know more though I doubt she could adapt to our life even if she wanted to adapt. “You are a virgin, yes?”

  She saw the girl flush and laughed outright. “Ah, so sorry, of course you are, for a moment I forgot that you are not of our world. Please excuse me, but it is rare for us to meet outsiders, let alone a samurai lady, and to have one in your household however briefly, that is almost unknown.”

  “Is—is that what you call us? Outsiders?”

  “Yes. Our Floating World sets us apart. Take little Teko. Soon her other life will have vanished and she will know only mine. That is my duty, to train her and keep her gentle and kind, to sacrifice herself for man’s pleasure—not at her impulse.” Koiko’s eyes took on a sheen. “That is what keeps men happy and content, pleasure in all its manifestations, neh?”

  “Sorry, I don’t understand ‘manifestations.’”

  “Ah, so sorry, it means ‘appearances, or qualities,’ to show pleasure in all its degrees.”

  “Ah, thank you,” Sumomo said, awed. “Please excuse me, I never knew that ladies of the—the Floating World were so … of course I presumed they were beautiful, but never, never as beautiful as you and never dreamed they could be so well educated and accomplished.” In the few days she had been here she had heard Koiko singing, and playing the samisen and had been inspired by the peerless quality and her repertoire—she too could play the samisen, just a little, and knew how difficult it was. She had heard her teaching Teko the art of haiku and other poetry, how to caress a phrase, about silks, how they are made, the warp and the weft and other mysteries, the beginnings of history and similar wonders, her range of knowledge vast. She bowed in tribute. “You astonish me, Lady.”

  Koiko laughed softly. “Learning is the most important part of our work. It’s easy to satisfy a man’s body—such a transient delight—but difficult to pleasure him for any length of time, to intrigue him and retain his favor. That must come through the senses of the mind. To achieve that one must train oneself extremely carefully. You must begin to do that too.”

  “‘When there are cherry blossoms to admire, who would look at carrot tops’?”

  “When a man is hungry he
seeks carrots and not cherry blossoms and he is more hungry than not.” Koiko waited, amused. She saw Sumomo drop her eyes, at a loss.

  “Carrots are peasant food, Lady,” Sumomo said in a small voice. “So sorry.”

  “Cherries are an acquired taste, as are their flowers. Carrots can take on many flavors, if properly treated.” Again she waited but Sumomo still looked down. “Not in riddles, so you will not be confused, it is not sex that is really sought by men in my World, but romance—our most forbidden fruit.”

  Sumomo was startled. “It is?”

  “Oh, yes, for us. It is poisonous. Men seek romance in your world too, most men, and it is not forbidden you, is it?”

  “No.”

  “Your future husband is no different, he seeks romance too, wherever it is available. Better you make as much available at home as you can, for as long as you can.” Koiko smiled. “Then you can have cherries and fine carrots. The flavors can be acquired, easily.”

  “Then please teach me.”

  “Tell me about this man, your husband-to-be.”

  “His name is Oda, Rokan Oda,” Sumomo said at once, using the cover name Katsumata had given her. “His father is a goshi … and he comes from Kanagawa in Satsuma.”

  “And your father?”

  “It is as I said, Lady. He is of the line Fujahito,” she said, using her new cover surname. “They are also from a village nearby and also goshi.”

  “Your guardian says this Rokan Oda is important.”

  “He is too kind, Lady, though Oda-sama is shishi and did take part in the attack on Lord Anjo at Yedo’s gates, and also killed the Elder Utani.” Katsumata had told her it was safer to tell the truth where possible, the fewer the lies to remember.

  “Where is he now?”

  “At Yedo, Lady.”

  “How long do you want to stay with me?”

  “For me, Lady, as long as I can. My guardian said Kyōto was dangerous for me. I cannot return home, my father disapproves of me as he had told you, as Oda-sama’s parents disapprove of him, so sorry, because of me.”

  Koiko frowned. “That will make life impossible.”

  “Yes. Karma is karma and what is to be will be. Though I am of no value to anyone and believe I am unknown to the Bakufu, Sensei Katsumata approves of my Oda-sama, accepted the responsibility. He said I’m to obey you in all things.”

  “Better to obey your parents, Sumomo.”

  “Yes, I know, but my Oda-sama forbids it.”

  A good answer, Koiko thought, seeing the pride and the conviction. Saddened, she glanced at the half-opened window. Surely this forbidden romance would end like so many others. In suicide. Together, if Sumomo was blessed. Or her alone when, as this Oda should, he obeys his parents and takes a wife acceptable to them.

  She sighed. In the garden outside, twilight was becoming night. A slight wind. “The leaves are whispering one to another. What are they saying?”

  Sumomo covered her surprise and began to listen. At length she said, “So sorry, I do not know.”

  “Listen while I am gone. It is important to know what leaves whisper. Tonight you will stay here, Sumomo. Perhaps I will return, perhaps not. If I do then we will talk some more, and you will tell me. If not we will continue tomorrow and you will tell me then. When Teko comes back to prepare the futons tell her I want you both to compose a haiku.” She thought a moment and then smiled. “A haiku about a snail.”

  “Hello, Koiko,” Yoshi said listlessly. His back was to the wall, his hand near his sword and he wore a yukata of purple silk. Outwardly he appeared calm but she saw through him and knew him to be lonely, frightened and in need of other skills.

  Her smile was enough to brighten the blackest day. At once she saw his eyes soften. Good, first hurdle. “Now,” she said, with pretended gravity, “I have a poem for you”:

  It is not easy

  To be sure which

  End is which of

  A resting snail!

  His laugh resounded around the room.

  Good, second hurdle. “I’m so pleased you allowed me to come to Kyōto with you.” His eyes took on the other glow and her soul warmed. Instinctively she changed what she was going to say, that he was so handsome in the flickering night lights. Instead she said what was deep within her:

  Those were sad times

  When, without you,

  I watched days come up

  And go down again.

  She was kneeling opposite him and he reached out and caught her hand. No need for words. For him or for her. Now he was at peace, tension gone, loneliness gone and all fear. And she was at peace too. So much energy expended to take him out of himself. So much revealed. Unwise to reveal so much.

  You are very important to me, he was saying without saying it, speaking as lovers will.

  You do me too much honor, she replied with a tiny frown. Then her fingers, delicately caressing the back of his hand said, I adore thee.

  Eyes locked with eyes. She raised his hand and brushed her lips against it. Silence gripping them, beginning to hurt, hurting and then in one swift movement, she slipped over to his side and embraced him tightly. Her laugh trilled. “Too much serious is bad for me, Torachan!” She hugged him again, nestling into his embrace. “You make me so happy.”

  “Ah, no more than I,” he murmured, glad the tension was broken so nicely. “You are adored and so are your poems.”

  “The one about the snail was by Kyorai.”

  He laughed. “It is by Koiko the Lily! Is, not was.”

  Again she nestled closer, enjoying his warmth and strength. “I nearly died when I heard about this morning.”

  “Life,” he said simply. “I should have been more prepared but I was fascinated by the street.” He told her how different it had seemed. “It was a rare experience—the feeling of invisibility—too good not to sample again, however dangerous. Does the danger add a spice to it? I will experiment in Yedo. At night it would be easier and I will train special guards to accompany me.”

  “Please excuse me, but I would suggest you partake of that drug sparingly.”

  “I mean to.” His arms held her, both of them comfortable. “It could develop into that, yes, easily.”

  The room adjoined his sleeping quarters. Like the whole barracks complex it was masculine, with minimum furniture, the tatami first quality but in need of replacement. I won’t be displeased to leave this place, he thought. Their ears caught the pad of approaching feet, his hand snaked to his sword hilt. Both of them tensed. “Sire?” a muffled voice said.

  “What is it?” Yoshi said.

  “So sorry to disturb you, Sire, a letter has just arrived, from Dragon’s Tooth.”

  Without needing to be asked, Koiko went to the side of the door out of the way and stood there on guard. Yoshi readied. “Open the door, sentry,” he called out. The door slid open. The sentry hesitated seeing Yoshi in a defense-attack position, sword loose in its scabbard. “Give the scroll to Lady Koiko.” The sentry obeyed then went away again. When he had reached the end of the corridor and had gone through that door, Koiko closed this one. She handed him the scroll and knelt in her place opposite. He broke the seal.

  The letter from his wife asked after his health and gave news that his sons and the rest of his family were well and looking forward to his return. Then the information began:

  The prospectors have been travelling diligently with your vassal Misamoto. As yet they have found no gold but report large—the word they used was “huge”—deposits of high-quality coal, easy to mine and near the surface. I understand them to say this is “black gold” and could be profitably bartered with the gai-jin for money. They continue to search. We hear Anjo has been made tairō and boasts that you will soon be invited to retire from the Council of Elders. Next, the confidant you visited on the way to Kyōto tells the following: The code word he gave you about an enemy is correct and that a similar plan is ready as the enemy’s state policy.

  Crimson Sky. So a lig
htning attack is “State Policy”! Will my agreement with Ogama hold?

  He put that question aside for later and continued reading:

  The ronin, Ori, who became a gai-jin spy, is dead in the gai-jin camp. The other ronin, Hiraga, is believed to be there also. Your spy says also he intercepted the “maid” you sent back, as ordered, and sent her far north to a very poor brothel. Her ronin lover was killed.

  Yoshi smiled. This was Koiko’s maid who had whispered of Utani’s secret tryst to her ronin shishi. Halfway to Kyōto he had dismissed her, sending her back to Yedo on some imagined slight—of course Koiko had not objected. Good, he thought. Utani is revenged in some small measure.

  Next, the Gyokoyama: I have completed money matters. May I use the coal possibility as a further pledge for any armaments ordered? Perhaps we should try to deal with the gai-jin direct, perhaps using Misamoto? Please give me your counsel. Sire, your presence and wise advice are greatly missed. Last, so sorry, famine has begun.

  Yoshi reread it. Knowing Hosaki so well, the way she had used “further pledge” meant that the negotiation had been rough and the price high. Never mind, next year there will be no famine and the Gyokoyamas, if they live that long in lands I control, will be repaid.

  He looked up at Koiko. She was staring into space, lost in dreams he knew he could never share. “Koiko?”

  “Oh. Yes, Sire?”

  “What were you thinking about?”

  “What leaves whisper to leaves.”

  Intrigued he said, “It depends on the tree.”

  She smiled sweetly. “A maple, a blood-red maple.”

  “In what season?”

  “Ninth month.”

  “If they were watching us they whispered, ‘Soon we fall, never to return, But they are blessed. They grow on the tree of life. Their blood our blood.’”

  She clapped her hands, smiling at him. “Perfect. And if it was a pine in spring?”

  “Not now, Koiko-chan, later.”

  Seeing the sudden seriousness, she became serious too. “Bad news, Sire?”