The Pillow Book of the Flower Samurai

by Barbara Lazar

  He came back and motioned me to sit on his lap. He opened each of my other kimonos, carefully smoothing each garment. He stroked my chest and pulled my kimonos up over my thighs. His face changed from pale gold to red; his skin from dry to beaded and moist.

  I shivered with my kimonos open, and he drew me towards him. He made no effort to straighten or pull down my robes. However, he warmed my legs by rubbing them, which I appreciated.

  I wanted to adjust my clothes, but I remembered Tashiko’s warning about my mouth and nose. The man continued to rub my hips. ‘Tell me your wonderful empress story,’ he crooned.

  I told each part. I left nothing out and worked my hands and face to emphasise the emotions, as I had practised. The man kept moving his hands, making it difficult to focus.

  I came to a funny part. I laughed as the empress laughed, and he placed one hand on my lap and one on my chest. They stayed there after I had finished laughing. When his hands did not go to my sides, my stomach pinched. I took in a breath and let it out with a sigh.

  ‘Ah, you like my touching you!’ He cackled, with a wide smile. One of his hands scraped my nipples while the other grated my stomach, as if he were preparing vegetables.

  Untying himself, the man strode across the hut, tossing garments over the bamboo stand until my kimono disappeared. He sauntered back to me. His hanging belly almost covered his Jade Stalk, which wavered back and forth, like the bokken of a novice boy.

  He grabbed me with a hand on each side of my waist. He picked me up, rubbed his face across my chest and stomach. His eyebrows and moustache pricked my skin. Next he man pushed my legs apart, thrust a finger into me and pulled it out. He pushed me down on the futon and promptly pierced me with his Jade Stalk. I gasped in shock and surprise.

  I had cried out! So quickly I had forgotten. Fortunately the man chortled. Perhaps he thought it was a gratification sound.

  He grabbed my breast with one hand. Grunting, he shoved the other hand under my buttocks and repeatedly punctured me. The stabbing took a long time.

  At my request Tashiko scrubbed me red to remove the man’s assaults. Later in my hut I cried in Tashiko’s arms, my stomach twisting hard.

  ‘I am sorry I did not explain.’ Tashiko put hand on each shoulder and looked into my eyes. ‘I remember my first time with Goro, the ugliness . . . no gentleness.’

  ‘Goro? Goro! What in the name of all the demons do you mean?’

  ‘Well, I was the oldest. He waits. Until we are older.’ Tashiko blinked several times.

  Bile lurched into my mouth. ‘Goro did that to you?’

  ‘Every time Proprietor Chiba was gone.’

  Her shoulders hunched, and I saw her as a small girl. ‘How could he do that?’

  ‘You were sent away. Remember? First I performed the dance with two fans for him. He liked that.’

  ‘Yes. He asked me too.’

  ‘Then . . . he took me.’ Her body slumped. ‘I truly regret not telling you about the first time. Goro said it was his right, his privilege. I thought he had done the same with you.’

  I stood up. ‘How could you not tell me?’

  ‘Goro ordered me to say nothing to anyone. He said it was a special arrangement between him and Proprietor Chiba.’

  Sore as I was, I stormed around the hut, ready to hit something, pull hair, or go to the practice field with my naginata, bokken or bow. ‘Special arrangement!’ I said, gritting my teeth and pounding my feet on the floor.

  ‘Proprietor Chiba owned me. It is honourable to do whatever your master wishes. They may do with us as they will.’

  ‘Not with me!’

  Tashiko waited. Finally I sat down close to her and said, ‘Chiba and Goro are in a conspiracy together.’

  ‘Not truly a conspiracy, Kozaishō. I know Akio has taught you the Eight-fold Noble Path and the Four Noble Truths of Buddha, especially that “All life is suffering.”’

  ‘That’s the one I hate.’

  Her lips smiled, but her eyes were sorrowful. ‘You may not always feel so. Chiba owned me, meaning he had the power of life and death over me. Whatever he allowed Goro to do, was, is, part of my inago.’

  ‘What did he do?’

  ‘You have experienced what Chiba likes, not only the hitting but the listening to pain. Goro has somehow come to love what was done to him in the monastery where he was raised.’

  ‘You have not told me what it was!’

  ‘Kozaishō, he loves to torture and rape. These bring him – fulfilment.’ She shook her head as if amazed by what she was telling me. ‘It is the only way he is satisfied.’

  I rose to my knees, my body stiff with disgust and horror. ‘The only way? The only way!’

  ‘Perhaps I injured him in a previous life,’ Tashiko murmured, to the floor.

  I put my arms around her, tears of outrage and love pouring, a heavy rain. ‘Accepting evil as due to oneself from a prior life is against what the Goddess of Mercy upholds!’

  ‘Not true. Let me tell you the story.’ Tashiko began:

  ‘Omaro came from the village of Kamo and was conscripted as a frontier soldier for three years. His mother accompanied him and lived with him, while his wife stayed behind to take care of the house. Omaro, for love of his wife, thought up the wicked idea of killing his mother and returning home, claiming the compassion due to mourning. However, his mother’s mind, as usual, was set on doing good. He said, “There will be a week’s lecture on the scriptures in the eastern mountains. Shall we go?”

  ‘His mother was eager to go. When alone together, he looked at her fiercely and demanded, “You, kneel on the ground!”

  ‘“Why are you talking like that, my son? Are you possessed by a fiend?”

  ‘The son drew a sword to kill her. She knelt and said, “We plant a tree to obtain its fruit, its shade and shelter. We bring up children to obtain their help and depend on them. The tree I nurtured has suddenly ceased to protect me from the rain.”

  ‘When the wicked son stepped closer to cut off his mother’s head, the earth opened to swallow him. His mother grabbed her son’s hair, appealed to Heaven, and wailed, “My child is possessed, driven to such evil!” Despite her efforts, he fell.

  She brought his hair home and held funeral rites, putting the hair in a box in front of the Buddha’s image and asking monks’ prayers for her son.

  ‘The mother’s compassion and love were so great for her evil son, she practised good on his behalf,’ Tashiko concluded. ‘Indeed, we know that the unaffectionate wrongdoings of a child are punished at once, but evil deeds never go without penalty. Never.’

  I shared with her what had happened to me with Goro. Telling my tale lessened the anger I had felt for Tashiko, but not that for Goro or Chiba.

  ‘I cannot believe you broke his nose.’ She shook her head, snorting with laughter.

  ‘Yes.’ I showed all my teeth, pleased with myself. ‘You should have seen the blood spurting down his clothes.’

  Tashiko’s eyes widened. ‘He loves his clothes. He must have hated that.’

  ‘Oh, yes, and I think his nose will always be crooked.’

  She placed her arms around me, stroking my hair. ‘Easier after this.’ She sighed. ‘No more surprises.’

  I looked up into her face. ‘No more secrets.’

  ‘The Women-for-Play chōja. The leader. A tenth of each gift goes to her. Any big changes, need to ask.’

  ‘Which one is she?’

  ‘Rin.’

  ‘That other ugly old one? The one with not as many wrinkles?’

  ‘Yes. Lie down. I will rub your back. “The Medicine King” from the Lotus Sutra.’ I put my head in her lap. She leaned over, brushed away the tears around my eyes, and recited. ‘“It is said that she who accepts and follows this will never again be born a woman.”’ Our eyes smiled.

  There were many other men. Several did not wait until I had finished the story. Yet because I became known as the teller of tales and the singer of modern songs, I slow
ly acquired an elevated class of customer. Tashiko often gave me knowing smiles when she saw the coin or two a wealthier man had left on the bamboo stand or on top of a kimono. Every time I received such a gift, I donated part to the Great-Heaven-Shining Deity, to secure good harvests for my family. Tashiko’s ways differed, and she taught me to pray to the Buddha.

  Many other things had to change as well.

  VI. Metamorphosis

  Despite Hitomi’s ban, Akio and I worked with my bow and my bokken. Every day I went to the small practice areas within this Village of Outcasts. My three-cross relationship improved. Akio made me work more on the first part of the full draw. I pushed the bow to the left as my right elbow folded. I moved my arrow to half its length and my right hand was above and forward of my forehead. Tashiko also taught me more dances and music, especially the koto, the big one, thirteen strings. But the stories, dancing and music were not enough.

  Rin said, ‘You need education if you are going to be in my group.’ She moved her large sleeve up to her large mouth and twittered, ‘Both of you.’ True, Tashiko and I kept each other’s company except in the customers’ houses.

  Rin’s laugh reminded me that she and Hitomi removed large amounts of the cloth and rice grateful customers gave me. Her big nostrils flared as she trumped up my supposed failure to sing new songs, use sutras in my songs, or sing old ones. Their titters over wealth taken from me were the jarring cries of crows.

  ‘First, you must look like courtly women,’ Rin informed us. ‘High society, the ranking Taira Clan members from Rokuhara and even from Heian-kyō, visits, not just men from nearby shōen and villages.’

  Rin squinted. ‘Oh, I forgot. You,’ she scowled, leaning towards me, ‘are from the country. Rokuhara is where the high-ranking Taira Clan kuge live. It is a huge city, with a great many mansions. Temples and shrines surround it. Many priests and monks come here from there, as you will see.

  ‘Ohaguro – it is used in higher ranks,’ Hitomi said, in a high, affected voice, through her blackened teeth. My spirit drooped to know I had to under go this process repeatedly to keep my teeth ‘attractively’ dark. A new tooth-darkening box, lacquered with a plum-tree design, consoled me only a little. The rest of the makeup was familiar, white rice powder for faces and rouge for cheeks and lips. The makeup the Women-for-Play used was better quality than the serving girls were given. We stored makeup in our toilet boxes. Tashiko called it her hand box, because our hands used the combs and applied the powder and rouge. She bolstered my spirits with her jests.

  Next, Rin insisted we pull all the hairs from our eyebrows and paste dots of soot in the middle of our foreheads. In a moment of goodwill, or perhaps because we had been spitting black gall all day, Rin told us a story about ‘The Girl Who Loved Insects’. Not only did this girl love insects, but she refused to pluck her eyebrows or blacken her teeth, and repelled her suitors with her gleaming, savage, coarse teeth. She never married, or so Rin said.

  When she had finished the story, Rin put her hands on her ample hips and ordered, ‘You are to do this also. This is what all the courtiers do in Heian-kyō.’ Her eyes went sharp.

  When we were alone Tashiko whispered to me, ‘What a poor storyteller Rin is.’

  Studying songs, especially the modern-style songs and dances, I practised the koto with the other Women-for-Play. Tashiko already played well.

  For the rest of our ‘education’ Rin sent us to an ageing woman. Tashiko named her Otafukure. In her playful way Tashiko combined the words ‘Otafuku’, the God of Female Sexual Appetite, and ‘fukure’, an old woman. She showed me the characters.

  Otafukure’s skin appeared as transparent as rice paper against sunlight. Her white hair hung in thin strands to the floor in her hut. She taught us reading and writing and we studied The Handbook of Recipes, a Chinese book. The pages had yellowed as teeth will without ohaguro.

  Otafukure delighted in teaching us ‘the art of joy’, the Chinese recipes.

  We learned names for parts of our bodies. She had us point, touch and name each part before we could continue the rest of the lessons. We studied all aspects of the Jade Stalk, the Positive Peak, the male part. The female parts included the Jewel Terrace, the Jade Veins, the Jade Gate and its Golden Gully. Otafukure emphasised the Cinnabar Cleft. This was in a woman’s interior part, surrounded by the Koto Strings that grew outside.

  Giggling, Tashiko played with my Koto Strings until Otafukure said, ‘Stop this nonsense. Your life and your livelihood depend upon this knowledge . . . and its applications.’

  We practised Propelling of the Peak in at least a dozen different ways. We used an artificial Jade Stalk, a harigata. Otafukure greased it, although it was so worn it did not need any preparation. With strips of cloth she tied it on to whoever was the man. The first time she tied it on to herself – she looked so funny that it was a while before she could stop us laughing.

  The positions all had curious names: Bamboos at the Altar, Rat and Mouse in a Hole. Otafukure liked Double-headed Fish best and requested it most often. For this we lay facing up at each other with legs crossing over thighs. The harigata moved in and out, and our legs looked like fish fins. We truly appeared as a fish with two heads! This became my favourite.

  When I saw Tashiko’s face as Otafukure and I were practising the Double-headed Fish, her eyes flashed a strange look, the look I remembered from when I had first met her, when Chiba had first complimented me and not her. After that, I always insisted on practising Double-headed Fish with Tashiko, never Otafukure.

  Tashiko and I learned to satisfy Otafukure with the harigata. She sang delightful wordless songs. Otafukure clearly indicated she was willing to barter more Chinese writing if either of us could make her sing these songs, but I think she preferred us together. I wanted to learn Chinese, but did not until Tashiko agreed to learn Chinese too.

  I learned much Chinese.

  VII. Backward Blessing

  Tashiko and I went to the bathhouse after work to remove the men’s stench. If the stable girls saw us arrive, they ignored us, much as we ignored them. I thought they were the lucky ones, despite their hard work and long hours.

  On the way to the bathhouse we searched for the laundry people, for Aya. She grinned when we passed, but others averted their eyes. If no one else was about, Aya hugged me. Sometimes I told her a quick story. Tashiko and I went inside, scrubbed each other, talking about the work, men, songs, dances and especially clothes. How I loved the clothes!

  Our conversation never included the marks and slashes. A few men enjoyed inflicting pain. She saw my bruises, and I certainly saw hers.

  Some liked to hold us down. Some used ropes to tie us. Some cut us to see the blood, which Rin permitted, provided it was not noticeable for our next customers and did not scar. A few brought other men to join them. Some wanted two women.

  With Tashiko’s gentle tutoring, I found I could endure this, too. She spoke of the Four Noble Truths of the Buddha. She taught me that all life was suffering. Nothing in this world was real. All was transitory. The release from this suffering was the Eight-fold Noble Path, just as I had learned from Akio.

  I made a song of the Eight-fold Noble Path so Aya and others could learn it too. Tashiko and I often sang this song scrubbing each other’s backs. She loved to teach it to everyone around her.

  Otafukure died after the season’s solstice, setsubun. The evening before, the celebrations had roared through the village. Everywhere there were cries of ‘Oni! Ogre! Go out!’ and ‘Happiness enter.’ Some Women-for-Play chanted, ‘Oni go out’ and ‘Happiness enter,’ using the ‘out’ and ‘enter’ another way. I heard them as I walked with a client back to Main House. Later I laughed.

  Everyone else was throwing the roasted soybeans that would keep the demons and oni away from the new spring season, or picking up the soybeans for luck. The superstitious girls’ throws and shouts were the most enthusiastic.

  The next morning at breakfast, Hitomi and Rin announced that
Otafukure had died in her sleep. Everything stopped, and we all attended her funeral, because she had once been the chōja, as well as the teacher of Chinese and the pleasing arts. We built her a funeral house by the river. Representations of a goose, a heron, a kingfisher a sparrow and a pheasant brought the different required offerings. When I asked Tashiko why we gave these gifts, she simply shrugged. I presumed the reason was custom.

  Daigoro no Goro conducted the burial ceremony. His voice was not unpleasing, although more nasal than it had been before I had broken his nose. The ceremony droned on, taking at least a full morning with all the prayers and salt scattering. Sometimes during his recitation, his gaze would find me. At those times, his voice thinned and his face tightened, especially around the eyes. Akio had been right: this priest was my enemy.

  We sang and danced all day and night, but I, with a dagger strapped to my leg, and Akio watched him all the time until he left the Village.

  After setsubun, icy winds penetrated my kimonos. We had enough food, but Rin measured our firewood, like worms for too many baby birds. A light snow had fallen, and the cold forced me to breathe through my nose. When I returned from archery or sword work and checked my mirror, my cheeks showed red even through my whitened face.

  That evening, I looked for Tashiko in the meal room. She was not there, which was unusual. I checked her hut. No Tashiko. I found her in her work hut, lying on the floor, like a broken dish, not moving, bleeding all over. She could not talk. Her eyes and lips were swollen shut, cuts everywhere, but she was alive, thank the Gods.

  I called for help and prayed to the Goddess of Mercy. Two samurai arrived. I ordered, ‘Carry her to my hut.’

  When Tashiko regained consciousness, I made sure she first heard my voice and felt my hands softly on her face. ‘Relax,’ I said. ‘I am here. Breathe. I am going to Hitomi. I shall be back soon.’