“I don't really know what I'd like. . .” She seemed puzzled and embarrassed. “What do you think?” she whispered to Okada, hiding behind him to avoid the clerk's gaze.
“Let me see now,” the clerk spoke up briskly. “I imagine any of these would look good on you.” He spread out a white linen-like dress for her inspection. “How about this one? Just hold it up to yourself and look at it — you'll find a mirror over there.”
Aguri went before the mirror and tucked the white garment under her chin, letting it hang down loosely. Eyes upturned, she stared at it with the glum look of a fretful child.
“How do you like it?” Okada asked.
“Mmm. Not bad.”
“It doesn't seem to be linen, though. What's the material?”
“That's cotton voile, sir. It's a fresh, crisp kind of fabric, very pleasant to the touch.”
“And the price?”
“Let's see. . . Now this one. . .” The clerk turned toward the back room and called in a startlingly loud voice: “Say, how much is this cotton voile — forty-five yen?”
“It'll have to be altered,” Okada said. “Can you do it today?”
“Today? Are you sailing tomorrow?”
“No, but we are rather in a hurry.”
“Hey, how about it?” The clerk turned and shouted toward the back room again. “He says he wants it today — can you manage it? See if you can, will you?” Though a little rough-spoken, he seemed kind and good-natured. “We'll start right now, but it'll take at least two hours.”
“That will be fine. We still need to buy shoes and a hat and the rest, and she'll want to change into the new things here. But what is she supposed to wear underneath? It's the first time she's ever had Western clothes.”
“Don't worry, we have all those too — here's what you start with.” He slipped a silk brassiere out of a glass case. “Then you put this on over it, and then step into this and this, below. They come in a different style too, but there's no opening, so you have to take it off if you want to go to the toilet. That's why Westerners hold their water as long as they can. Now, this kind is more convenient: it has a button here, you see? Just unbutton it and you'll have no trouble!. . . The chemise is eight yen, the petticoat is about six yen — they're cheap compared with kimonos, but see what beautiful white silk they're made of! Please step over here and I'll take your measurements.”
Through the flannel cloth the dimensions of the hidden form were measured; around her legs, under her arms, the leather tape was wound to investigate the bulk and shape of her body.
“How much is this woman worth?” Was that what the clerk was calculating? It seemed to Okada that he was having a price set on Aguri, that he was putting her on sale in a slave market.
About six o'clock that evening they came back to the dress shop with their other purchases: shoes, a hat, a pearl necklace, a pair of amethyst earrings. . .
“Well, come in! Did you find some nice things?” The clerk greeted them in a breezy, familiar tone. “It's all ready! The fitting room is over here — just go in and change your clothes!”
Okada followed Aguri behind the screen, gently holding over one arm the soft, snowy garments. They came to a full-length mirror, and Aguri, still looking glum, slowly began to undo her sash. . .
The statue of woman in Okada's mind stood naked before him. The fine silk snagged on his fingers as he helped apply it to her skin, going round and round the white figure, tying ribbons, fastening buttons and hooks. . . Suddenly Aguri's face lit up with a radiant smile. Okada felt his head begin to swim. . .
A Blind Man's Tale
The following narrative is in the words of an old man— a blind masseur and, in the medieval Japanese tradition, a kind of minstrel — who is reminiscing to an indulgent client over saké at one of the inns where travelers rested on the long journey between Edo and Kyoto. All of the major events described have a basis in historical fact. Among the characters are Oda Nobunaga and his successor, Hideyoshi: the two great predatory generals, otherwise so different, who subdued their many rivals in the anarchic civil wars of sixteenth-century Japan. The tale is being told only a few years after the fall of Osaka Castle (1615), when Tokugawa Ieyasu, the successor to Hideyoshi, crushed the last of the opposition to his new dynasty of Shoguns. — TRANS. NOTE
I was born in the province of Omi, not far from Nagahama, in the twenty-first year of the Tembun Period. That was 1552, the Year of the Rat — so how old does that make me? About sixty-five?. . . Yes, they tell me I lost my sight when I was three. At first I could still see things dimly, enough to know what I was looking at: even now I remember how the blue water of Lake Biwa shone in my eyes on a fine day. But within a few months I was blind as a bat — none of our prayers and offerings did any good. My parents were farmers; but my father died when I was nine years old, and my mother when I was twelve. After that I had to depend on the kindness of our neighbors. I learned how to massage people, and managed to make a living at it.
Later on, when I was seventeen or eighteen, I was lucky enough to perform my services at Odani Castle, and eventually, thanks to the kind gentleman who recommended me, I went there to join its regular staff. I'm sure you know that Odani Castle belonged to Lord Asai Nagamasa, a fine young man who had already made a name for himself as a general. His father, old Lord Hisamasa, was still alive, but there were rumors that they didn't get along very well. People said that his father was to blame. Most of the samurai, even the chief retainers, seemed to take sides with Nagamasa.
According to what I heard, it all started when Lord Nagamasa was fourteen. His coming of age was celebrated early in 1559 — that was when he received his title — and he married the daughter of the senior vassal of the Sasaki family, who held southern Omi. But they say that this marriage wasn't to Nagamasa's liking, that he had been forced into it against his will. Apparently Lord Hisamasa decided that, considering the long history of warfare between northern and southern Omi, you could never tell when the present calm might be shattered by another battle. A marriage alliance with the south would be a sign of reconciliation, likely to keep the Asai lands out of danger in the years to come. But Nagamasa didn't relish the thought of being the son-in-law of one of Sasaki's vassals. Still, it was his father's order, and he had to obey. He went through with the marriage. Later, though, when he was told to go pay his respects to his new father-in-law, Lord Nagamasa was furious.
“This is too much!” he said to himself. “It's already humiliating to have married into that family just because of my father. But to go there and make a vow of filial piety! I was born a samurai — why shouldn't I act like one? I must watch for my chance to lead an army into the field so that I can take over the country someday. That is the ambition of a true warrior.”
Finally he sent his bride back to her home, without even consulting Lord Hisamasa. Now, that was being a little highhanded no doubt; it's natural that his father got angry. But all the retainers admired Nagamasa immensely: how extraordinary for a young gentleman of only fourteen to have such strength of mind! He must have the spirit of a great hero, they thought, of a man like their former master Lord Sukemasa, who had raised the House of Asai to its high position. Under such a master the house would have a brilliant future, he was a truly splendid young man! Soon there was no one left who would take orders from Hisamasa, and he had no choice but to turn all responsibility over to his son. They say he retired to the island of Chikubu, in the northern part of Lake Biwa, along with his wife, Lady Inokuchi.
But all this happened before I went into service at Odani. By then the father and son were on better terms, and Hisamasa and his wife had come back from the island and were living at the castle compound. I think Nagamasa was about twenty-four. In the meantime he had taken a second wife — none other than Lady Oichi, the younger sister of the powerful Lord Oda Nobunaga! The way the rnarriage came about was that Nobunaga, in passing through Omi from his home province of Mino to the capital, learned that Asai Nagamasa was a
dashing young commander and would make a strong ally. So Nobunaga asked him to become his brother-in-law, and told him that if he accepted, the Asai and Oda could join forces to crush the Sasaki family. Then they could go on to Kyoto and, together, take over control of the entire country. Nagamasa could have Mino, if he wanted it; and Nobunaga said he would sign a pledge giving him a free hand throughout Echizen: certainly, in view of the close ties which the Asakura family of Echizen had with the Asai, he would never take it upon himself to launch an attack on them. All this was put so courteously that Nagamasa agreed, and the matter was settled. You see, the fact that he had refused to subordinate himself to Sasaki after marrying the daughter of his vassal was what made Lord Nobunaga, who was already the absolute master of a great many provinces, so eager to have him as a relative. Of course, Nagamasa was also an outstanding general, and he had the kind of grand ambition a man ought to have.
I don't know anything about his former wife, the one he divorced so promptly, but Lady Oichi was famous for her beauty even before she married him. This time it was an extremely happy marriage, and a fruitful one, with a child born almost every year. I believe they had two or three by the time I came to the castle. The eldest daughter, who was called Ochacha, was still only a sweet little girl — to think that she would become the Lady of Yodo, the favorite of the Regent Hideyoshi and the mother of his heir Lord Hideyori! Really, there's no telling what the future will bring. But even then people said that Ochacha was beautiful, the perfect twin of her mother in mouth and eyes, the shape of her nose, in all her features. Blind as I was, I felt somehow aware of the resemblance.
How on earth could a lowly person like me have had the good luck to serve such noble ladies? Oh yes, I forgot to mention it earlier, but at first my job was to massage the samurai. When they were bored they'd say: “Come on, give us a tune on your samisen!” Rumors that I was singing and playing the latest popular songs must have reached the ladies, for one day a messenger arrived from them asking to have a look at the servant who was supposed to be a good singer, and so amusing. After that I was called to attend them several more times. That was how it began. Of course a huge castle like that had all sorts of people in service, besides the samurai. Why, they even had a troupe of actors — they didn't need me to entertain them. But I suppose that to persons of exalted rank ordinary popular songs were a novelty. And then too, in those days the three-stringed samisen wasn't nearly as well known as it is now; it was just beginning to be taken up by a few curiosity seekers. Maybe its exotic twang appealed to them.
The fact is, I never had a lesson on the samisen in my life. I've always been fond of music: no sooner would I hear a tune than I'd pick it up and begin singing and playing it, as naturally as breathing. I began playing the samisen that way, just for amusement, and before long I had a fair degree of skill at it. Of course, I was only an amateur, scarcely qualified to play for an audience, and yet — maybe because my awkwardness had a certain appealing charm — my performances were extravagantly praised. Whenever I played for the ladies I was given wonderful presents. Now, in those days the whole country was at war, there was always a battle going on somewhere. But it had its pleasant side too: when the lords were far away on a campaign, their ladies would have nothing to do but try to forget their worries, by playing the koto, for instance; and in time of siege there were often gay, boisterous parties throughout the castle to keep our spirits up. It wasn't always as bad as people nowadays seem to think.
Lady Oichi's favorite diversion was the koto, which she played expertly. Once while she was playing I took up my samisen and accompanied her, following whatever melody she chose. She seemed delighted and said I was very clever. From that time on I served in the ladies' quarters. Little Ochacha would call me too, wanting me as her constant playmate. “Sing me the gourd song!” she would say in her childish voice. Yes, I remember that song even now:
Deep under the eaves
Let us plant gourd vines,
Plant them and let them flourish
So that they can sway freely, freely.
As freely as they please.
I knew all sorts of other songs too, but even if I remember the tunes I forget the words. Well, that's the way it is when you're as old as I am.
Meanwhile Nobunaga and Nagamasa had a falling out, and there was fighting between the two families. Now when did that happen? Wasn't the Battle of Anegawa in 1570, the first year of the Genki Period? I'm sure a gentleman like you, who can read, knows far better than I do about such things. Anyway, not long after I went into service the trouble began, and the reason was that Lord Nobunaga, without giving my master a word of notice, invaded the territory of Lord Asakura of Echizen. Ever since Nagamasa's grandfather had founded the family fortunes with the help of the Asakura, the House of Asai had owed them a debt of gratitude. That is why our lord, at the time when his marital alliance with the Oda family was being arranged, got a binding pledge from Nobunaga that he would never touch the province of Echizen.
The first one to lose his temper was old Lord Hisamasa. “You can't trust that damned Nobunaga!” he exclaimed. “In less than three years he treats his pledge like a scrap of paper and goes into Echizen. It's outrageous!” And he went to Nagamasa's quarters, summoned everyone down to the last samurai, and declared fiercely: “Nobunaga is going to conquer Echizen and attack our castle! We've got to join forces with Asakura and smash him while Echizen is still safe.”
For a while Lord Nagamasa and his retainers kept their silence. You see, as wrong as it was of Nobunaga to break his word, the truth is that Lord Asakura had taken advantage of that pledge by behaving contemptuously toward the Oda family. Worst of all, he had refused Nobunaga's invitations to confer on affairs of state at the capital, which was insulting to the Emperor too, as far as that goes. And so our retainers suggested that we get out of the situation by sending a token force of a thousand men to Echizen to help the Asakura, and still try to keep on reasonably good terms with the Oda family. After all, they argued, once you make an enemy of Nobunaga you might as well give up any hope of victory, whoever your allies are.
That made Hisamasa angrier than ever. “What are you miserable cowards talking about?” he cried. “Even if Nobunaga is a living demon, how can you think of deserting the Asakura family when it's in trouble? Do you forget everything you've owed to it since my father's time? You'd disgrace yourselves as warriors and bring everlasting shame on the House of Asai! If I have to stand alone, I'll not act like such an ungrateful wretch!” And he glared haughtily at the assembled company.
The older retainers clustered around him, trying to calm him down. They urged him to think the question over carefully, not to be so hasty. But he only gritted his teeth in rage, his whole body trembling, and said: “You all think I'm in the way, and you want to make me cut open my old belly.”
Most old men are touchy about matters of honor, so it seemed natural enough to hear him talk like that. But the feeling had long rankled in his mind that his retainers had made a fool of him, and he held a grudge against Nagamasa for having married Lady Oichi, scorning the wife that he himself had gone to so much trouble to provide. He wanted to let Nagamasa understand a little of his own feelings. “You see what's happened,” he wanted to say. “You've got into this situation because you disobeyed your father. Now that it has come to this, why should you go on being polite to that liar Nobunaga? It looks as if you've swallowed his insults all this time because you're so fond of your darling wife that you can't draw your bow against the Oda!”
Lord Nagamasa listened in silence to the argument between his father and his retainers, sighed, and then declared firmly: “My father is right. Even though I am Nobunaga's brother-in-law I cannot fail to repay our long-standing debt of gratitude to the Asakura. Tomorrow I will send a messenger to Nobunaga to return his pledge. He may pride himself on having the strength of wolves and tigers, but if we join our forces with those of Echizen in a battle to the death, we will surely defeat him!”
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br /> And so everyone had to make up his mind to it.
But later, whenever there was a council of war, Nagamasa and his father held different opinions and got along very badly. Since Nagamasa was a brilliant general, a man of bold, high-spirited temperament, he felt that once having antagonized Nobunaga, who was quick to act, you could hardly afford to deliberate. It was best to take the offensive and engage him in battle. But his father had an old man's tendency to be cautious, and was actually inviting disaster.
When Nobunaga withdrew from Echizen to Kyoto, Lord Nagamasa reasoned out his own strategy this way: “Suppose I join forces with Asakura, drive into Mino, and storm Nobunaga's home castle at Gifu. Then he will come hurrying back, but he'll have trouble getting past the Sasaki south of the lake. In the meantime I'll return from Gifu, ambush him on the way, and take his head.” And he sent a messenger to propose this plan to the Asakura.
But they too were reluctant to act. No one liked his plan, least of all Lord Asakura: it would be dangerous to go all the way to Mino, they said, and have enemies both in front and in the rear. Their reply was: “We think it better to wait for Nobunaga to advance on Odani Castle, as he is sooner or later sure to do. Then we will bring up the forces of our whole province to support you.” And so, unfortunately, Nagamasa's strategy was never adopted.
It seems that when he heard this reply Lord Nagamasa became pensive. “So Asakura is being cautious too! Now I know what he is really like — with that kind of sluggishness we have no chance of defeating anyone as quick-witted as Nobunaga. Our fate is sealed. I listened to my father, and now I have a worthless ally.” After that he was resigned to the thought that neither he nor his family would survive much longer.
Seven Japanese Tales Page 17
