It was taller than any shrine to which my family had ever taken me. A high fountain thundered before its door, a typhoon of water. The wooden railings formed a delicate pattern. Only Fourth Daughter had the skill to copy it with her sewing.
As I moved closer, the fountain painted rainbows in the midday air. When Tashiko stopped in front of them, she put her hands over her stomach. Her eyes glowed and went far away at the same time. She muttered words I did not understand. I waited, silent.
I looked inside the temple. Many lighted candles stood on tables. I heard timeworn voices muttering my name and saw ancient eyes staring.
‘Now to the samurai’s game field.’ Tashiko raced off.
Perhaps my large samurai would be there. I ran fast to follow her.
Far beyond the bathhouse lay a green field with no crop, only grass. Men played with a leather ball, running and kicking to keep it in the air. I searched, yet could not see my samurai. Tashiko followed the ball back and forth, her mouth and eyes stretching wider and wider.
This was something that made her happy. I liked the game too.
We returned to Lesser House in the late midday.
‘Do you know the Butterfly Dance?’
‘Yes, Tashiko.’
Tashiko sighed, seeming content. ‘Good.’
Tashiko and I rehearsed the Butterfly Dance as I had with my older sister. Tashiko shimmered like a real butterfly in the twilight. A spring haze, with its fresh smell, cooled us. The cicadas trilled, and the bush warblers called their endearing good night, ‘ho-hoh hokekkyō’. The birds’ song reminded me of saying goodbye to my father. I resolved not to cry, but instead to think of my duty and embrace it.
Dancing and singing, I pretended I was at home with Second Daughter. Outside, behind the lines of drying clothes, she and I had practised a difficult new dance for last autumn’s Feast of Harvest. First she had shown me the whole dance. Next we had learned the steps separately, then the hand and finally the head movements. Last, I had put them all together.
We had sung and swirled. I had spun into the drying garments hanging under the cloudy sky. Mother ran out to see the muddy wreckage. Her lips turned down to her chin.
I thought, Besides a beating, no evening meal, but Mother’s face softened and she said, ‘Both of you stop and wash those clothes again.’
At the mild punishment Second Daughter raised her eyebrows – her look of surprise. She grabbed my hand. ‘Come. Two of us can do this and have time to practise those steps again.’ We learned that dance, Second Daughter and I, Fifth Daughter.
Now – Tashiko and I.
IV. Ambush
Tashiko and I practised the Butterfly Dance for the remainder of that second day and all of the third on Lesser House’s watadono. The biwa player’s music drifted around us, as welcome as the sparrows’ chirps. Dancing was harder work than turning the grinding stone at harvest. It had the same movements over and over, in varied patterns: point the toes, uncurl the fingers, head tilted left and head tilted right; two beats, four beats, curl, uncurl and bend the fingers, over and over. Remembered or repeated. Later we did everything together again. Perfect for Proprietor Chiba. Flawless for my family and our honour.
Tashiko seemed impressed by how fast I learned everything, but the hand gestures troubled me.
I floated like two clouds following the sun. From time to time the musician brought water and snacks for us. He often smiled at me, a smile that relaxed my stomach. Yet I would have given all, the morning rice, the beautiful bowls, the dolls, the clothes, all of this to hear Second Daughter’s hum as I danced at home.
My bath on the third evening was as the first. Tashiko scrubbed my skin raw, like new hemp cloth. This time, though, she sat on the same stool and used the same water to bathe herself. With a spongy brush her strokes were slower and gentler. She took her time drying, and when she had finished her skin shone like silk. Tashiko was older and in charge. I had to be cautious. How could I protect myself?
Back inside Lesser House, Tashiko dressed us in the dance costumes. How soft the cloth felt on my skin, pale green silk brocade, delicate. Fourth Daughter did not have such beautiful clothes. I felt like a princess in the stories my mother and sisters had told me. Tashiko combed my hair with a care that reminded me of my sisters, bringing together lonely and happy feelings. If I was careful to listen and obey, Proprietor Chiba would not hit me, and perhaps this place would be magical, like living in a tale. Fourth Daughter would not believe I ate white rice twice a day.
Tashiko’s breathy voice quavered, ‘My mother’s hair, like yours, thick, charcoal black. I combed it for her.’ Her voice hardened like her fist against my head. She jerked back and pulled my hair hard. ‘Hers had no tangles or knots.’
The pain forced me to recall I was not at home. I was with Tashiko in the shōen. Although I wanted to, I did not yank her hair because she was older and teaching me. I took deep breaths and checked that I could move easily in my new costume. I smoothed my hair to ensure Tashiko had not made me untidy.
When Proprietor Chiba came inside Lesser House that evening, he placed the dishes on the table. He dropped on to the doubled futon, while Tashiko and I made obeisance to him.
‘Are you ready?’ He directed the question to Tashiko.
Tashiko answered in what sounded like a rehearsed speech. ‘Yes, honourable Proprietor Chiba. I . . . we are ready to present to you.’
‘Go outside.’ He waved his hand. ‘Tell the musician to play and get your fans.’
Fans? What was a fan?
As Tashiko unfolded her body to go outside, I looked to her for answers. Her lips turned up, like an early crescent moon on the horizon. My breathing came faster.
The biwa music played from the veranda. Tashiko came back into Lesser House. She had two odd sticks in her hand. She handed one to me, pretending she had done this as many times as there were barley kernels in a field. I had never seen fans. From the way Tashiko posed, the way she handled them, I knew she had. My muscles tightened, yet I relaxed my mouth from its frown. My face heated with fury. She wanted me to look bad. I would not give her the satisfaction.
I positioned myself to see what she did with the fans. I remembered the foot and body gestures. Now the hand and finger movements made more sense – curled and uncurled, bent and not bent.
We posed in the beginning posture. Tashiko stuck her fan inside her belt. I did the same. The music played. On the third turn she flicked her wrist and transformed the fan into a butterfly’s wing in the wind. I flicked and showed – the stick.
Proprietor Chiba grunted.
My cheeks burned, my chest tightened. We turned in a small circle, and Tashiko flipped her fan, one side, the other side, and repeated. I did the turn, but could not do all, and missed the next step.
Proprietor Chiba growled.
Tashiko and I stepped together, fluttering like butterflies. Behind her, Tashiko rotated her fan upside down and back in one quick movement. My fan went upside down behind my back and came to the front – only half open. The fan fell to the floor and I scrambled to retrieve it.
Proprietor Chiba roared, ‘Stop!’ Outside Lesser House the music ceased. Grunting like a boar, he rolled to his feet and pointed a fat finger to the floor. I copied Tashiko’s example, pressed the fan into my belt and made obeisance.
‘Tashiko, you said you were ready. You were not. You did not teach the fans. A beating for both of you. If this happens again, Kozaishō will be the one who beats you. Is that clear?’
‘Yes, honourable Proprietor Chiba.’ Tashiko’s lips stretched tight like a drum.
‘Fetch the switch.’ Proprietor Chiba’s voice boomed against the walls of Lesser House.
Tashiko returned holding a thin bamboo cane and gave it to him.
‘Permission to speak, Proprietor Chiba?’ If I took the blame for Tashiko’s wrong-doing, she would owe me a favour. She would see I was not a rival. I needed at least one friend against this demon.
He waved
his hand.
‘It is only I who should be punished. I am the one who did not learn.’
‘That does not matter.’ Proprietor Chiba’s lips turned upwards, demonstrating the sound of the bamboo rod. Swoop! Swoop! ‘My order was for you to learn. Therefore you both disobeyed me. Strip to the waist and bend. Both of you.’
We made obeisance on his command. My fingers touched the floor, and shivers travelled all over my body.
‘Kozaishō, sit up and watch what happens when I am not obeyed.’
Whack! Whack! Whack! He thrashed Tashiko. She yelped at each blow. Her eyes filled with tears. She cried for her mother, her father, her sisters. Proprietor Chiba’s grin grew wider with each blow. I wanted to run away from those sounds but could not dishonour my family. Blood dotted her skin.
Proprietor Chiba made an all-teeth smile and turned to me.
Vomit scorched my throat. I swallowed it.
I prayed to the Goddess of Mercy that I would be brave.
Thwack!
I gasped with the blow.
Thwack!
Tears leaked. I bit my tongue to be silent.
He sucked in a breath. Thwack!
The floor shone with my tears. I did not let out a sound.
He wheezed when he hit me.
I bit my tongue each time. No cries like Tashiko.
He brought the switch down harder. I prayed to the Goddess of Mercy again that I would be brave and remain quiet.
I heard him panting and waited, unsure what would happen, hoping he would stop.
‘You will remember this,’ he croaked, breathing with a whistle. ‘You will obey me completely.’ He took our dinner and left Lesser House.
Tashiko rose, reached behind the brazier and took out a small jar. She applied the salve to my injuries with gentle touches. I had to bite my tongue again to stop myself crying out.
She handed me the jar and a cloth and turned around. Large blood-red welts and old scars streaked her back. I wondered if my skin would scar like that.
‘Bite your lip or tongue.’ I applied the salve. ‘It will help against the pain.’ She pivoted to stare at me, surprised. I thought I saw an apology through her tears.
I dabbed ointment on each bloody dot.
Two days before I had had someone to comfort me, at least rub my head or feet. Now, there was no one. Tashiko slept far away on the other side of the futon.
I stayed awake, lying on my stomach, rubbing my head but was not soothed.
V. Story of Samurai
The next day Tashiko wound heavy cloth around us to stop the blood seeping through our clothes. Movement made the pain worse. Still, I practised the dance. I learned the fans in a single day.
We were quiet, except when Tashiko paused, walked over to me, eyes down, and muttered, ‘Thank you for taking the blame. I am sorry.’
I tried to smile. I was not sure I believed her, although I wanted a companion in this big and lonely place. I hoped to see my samurai again.
That evening we presented again. Proprietor Chiba applauded. ‘Much better. You make a beautiful pair of butterflies!’
I gave all the praise to Tashiko.
‘Look what I have brought you.’ He presented us with new kimonos, wrapped in paper: mine was brilliant red with cherry trees in full pink and white bloom, and hers deep blue with clouds, mountains and trees. We admired them, put them on and then away.
‘And . . .’ Proprietor Chiba pointed to the table, which was filled with delicacies.
If Tashiko wanted to be close to a man who hit and rewarded us with the same hand, I would not fight her. I disobeyed Proprietor Chiba’s pointing finger for me to eat and allowed Tashiko to eat first, willing to undergo another punishment. Proprietor Chiba did not interfere.
‘I have a story,’ he said, when we had finished.
I glanced up at his black ant eyes in the bloated face and did not answer until Tashiko had responded.
‘Good.’ He hugged me, squeezing my raw back. I bit my tongue so that I did not scream.
Tashiko scowled. I moved away.
Proprietor Chiba seemed not to notice. ‘This story is in honour of our new girl.’ He leaned over and pinched my cheek. ‘I call it “Pink Flower” after you, Kozaishō.’
I watched Tashiko, who glared at me. After she had spoken, I repeated what she said. ‘Yes, please, honourable Proprietor Chiba.’ I stared at the gold-thread clasps across his large stomach. Maybe he would tell me how I had honoured my family. Then I could go home. I wanted to go home.
Once upon a time, a poor woodcutter heard a cry at the forest’s edge and found it came from inside a pink flower stalk. He carefully cut it and found inside a girl, no bigger than his little finger. He carried her in his hand to his home. The woodcutter named her Pink Flower, because she ate only pink flowers and grain. In that first month she grew into a beautiful woman and worked hard. A wealthy man saw her and purchased her, leaving her adopted father prosperous. The wealthy man bought Pink Flower numerous presents and fed her wonderful food in beautiful dishes. They lived happily together for many years.
That night, I slept with my festival clothes under me because I did not trust Tashiko, but I dreamed of becoming Pink Flower and also of marrying a samurai. This samurai took me to his shōen where my family joined me. My parents, sisters and brothers never had to work or go hungry again. All of us lived with wealth, happiness and, most of all, honour.
Besides learning the dances, each morning Tashiko told me my other tasks. I made these into a song, just as my mother had done for me. Usually the tasks included deliveries of packages, or messages written on folded papers, which looked like flowers. These I took to the artisans who lived a far distance behind the shō – Big House, as Tashiko called it. I handed people the package or note and stole peeps at them. I did not have permission to talk to them, or they to me. The silence could be lonely.
After my back had healed, Tashiko gave me the wrong tasks. Once.
Proprietor Chiba fulfilled his promise and gave me the bamboo switch.
‘It was my mistake,’ I told him, in front of Tashiko, and refused to beat her. He beat me, and I bit the inside of my mouth or my tongue to smother my every sound. After Tashiko had smoothed on the ointment, with gentler fingers this time, I grabbed her hair, pulled, and spoke through clenched teeth. ‘I will not do that again. If you try to hurt me one more time, I will not take the blame. I will beat you. Hard. Do you understand?’
To my relief, her eyes filled. ‘Oh, Kozaishō. You were so brave.’ She wrapped her arms around herself. ‘Let there be a truce between us.’ Her big dark eyes showed her misery. ‘I’m sorry. He never told me stories. Let us truly be friends. Will you?’
I counted our beginning from that moment.
My tasks let me go throughout the shōen, which measured many chō from end to end. I wanted my home. Often I went further, to the outside walls, almost to the gate. Samurai guarded the gate. I remembered and returned to my tasks. Leaving would dishonour my parents. My entire family would be disgraced. If I were shamed, I could not go home. I stayed – I had nowhere to go. Yet I thought of home all the time.
I carried food or water to the samurai practising in the large fields. The few times I found my samurai, I watched him, hidden in the grasses at the edge of the field. I wished I could talk to him.
I studied the samurai’s armour, their bows and arrows, their swords. The armour looked solid, but moved like grass in the wind. I learned each samurai by his armour’s pattern. My samurai had deep blue and bright red in rectangular shapes, easy to find.
He launched an arrow, hissing above the field. It struck the target with a crack. I gasped with the sheer joy of watching. On horses, samurai were transformed into fierce beasts, shooting arrows from armoured bulges on their backs, arms wide, bow and arrow fully spread.
‘Are there no other children to play with?’ I asked, over the morning rice and pickled vegetables.
‘No.’ Her eyes aimed for her t
oes. I knew better than to ask any more questions. I hoped she had told me the truth.
When Tashiko’s tasks in Big House were complete, Proprietor Chiba ordered her to teach me more dances. We practised, and she talked about the Buddha. ‘After we master the steps, we will wear costumes. One costume has a mask to cover your head.’
She seemed pleased at this, so I was happy.
Almost every night I dreamed of practising with my samurai or riding a horse – bundled within a strong warm arm.
In my mind I decided to become a samurai. In my spirit, I was one already.
BOOK 3
I. Omens
After the first month my tasks were fewer, because I had to learn and practise the dances and to sing songs. Otherwise I studied the samurai, regardless of the weather, but always concealed myself from them.
When the samurai gestured, I imitated them. Sometimes I pretended to be the Great Protector wielding power. More often I became the magnificent Pink Flower, who in my mind had also become a samurai, although sometimes I played at being the Sun Goddess, about whom Tashiko told stories when she bathed me:
As Izanagi purified himself in the stream, a God or Goddess was born from each part of him. The Sun Goddess was born from his left eye. Susanowo, the Storm God, was born from Izanagi’s nose. When He decided to travel to heaven, the Sun Goddess gathered her weapons, put on her masculine fearlessness, and uttered a forceful roar of resistance.
At a distance from the samurai, I gathered my weapon-sticks and roared like the Sun Goddess. I studied the samurai’s daily rituals beyond the bathhouse and vegetable gardens – there, I would often eat a sweet daikon radish or whatever I could find – always hoping to see my samurai, hoping to spend a moment with someone I imagined I could trust.
The samurai held each object up to the Sun Goddess. They bowed to each other before and after each fight, and, just as I had imitated my father and brothers, I imitated them: I grunted when they grunted; I thrust my arms out as they practised with their swords; when they moved, I moved. I sent imaginary arrows. Best of all, when I was alone, no one could trick me.
The Pillow Book of the Flower Samurai Page 4
