Hitomi huffed and Rin jabbed Tashiko all over while she winced and groaned. Hitomi sniffed, and said, ‘Unfit to work. Yakamashita will not see you again.’
Overnight Tashiko developed a fever. To ask for healing from the Gods, I placed a rice-straw rope around a tree where they connected with the earth. I used the tree near my hut, according to the traditions, to help her.
Rin gave me permission to attend my friend. That was good, because I would have anyway. She probably knew it. Hitomi furnished a salve to be applied several times each day so that Tashiko healed quickly without scars. Scarred, she would be worth little, and there were many gashes because of Yakamashita’s long fingernails.
Her beautiful skin, under the ointment, looked like wet laundry. The ointment’s sharp smell brought stinging tears.
‘No,’ she murmured, through her swollen lips.
‘No what?’
‘No ointment,’ she said, although I could barely understand her.
‘You need it. Without it, you will scar. You know what that means,’ I said, as gently as I could.
‘Let me scar.’
‘What are you talking about? You have a fever. You are not rational. Do you know what will happen if you are scarred?’
Wincing, she said, ‘Yes. I will no longer be a Woman-for-Play.’
‘Is that what you want? To be away from me?’ I could not believe what she said.
‘Yes. No more men. No more Daigoro no Goro.’
I knew she had fevered thoughts. Yakamashita I could understand, but Goro? ‘Hitomi said no more Yakamashita. What do you mean, Goro?’
She did not respond. A horrible idea came to me. ‘Goro? Is this the kind of thing he did to you? This is what you meant by torture?’ Perhaps the anger in my voice made her listen to me. When she had said Goro tortured her, I had thought – I did not know what I had thought.
‘No – no – no more,’ she mumbled.
‘No? No more what?’ I asked, more forcefully.
‘Yakamashita goes with Goro. They like the same . . . things.’
‘Goes with? Same things?’
Tears leaked from her eyes and ran into the slashes on her face, neck and chest. Each tear made her gasp. It hurt me to see her suffer. I grabbed a soft cloth and wiped each tear before it burned her. I asked again, ‘Tashiko, how do you know?’
‘Goro visited when Proprietor Chiba’s Gods of Directions made him go away.’
‘Yes, I remember. You told me.’ I kept my voice calm and soft, while my hands itched for a weapon. My fingers dabbed away each tear.
‘I told you . . . about the two fans?’
‘Yes, Tashiko. You did.’ That son of an oni, Goro, still lived, although not by my choice.
Tashiko laid a hand on mine. ‘He – he forced himself on me after every dance.’
‘I am truly sorry.’ No wonder she had been sad whenever Chiba had Divergent Directions.
‘He . . . For his pleasure, he likes to hurt.’
Wiping her tears, flowing fast now, I said, ‘I know.’
‘The hurting prepares him, his Jade Stalk . . . Otherwise . . .’
‘So you danced, he beat you and – Yakamashita is like Goro?’
‘Scarred, disfigured, they will not want me.’
‘Let me help you. Let me help you heal. I can teach you to defend yourself. After all, I broke Goro’s nose.’ I leaned close to her mangled face, smiling as best I could, ‘Imagine what we could do to Yakamashita.’
This brought a tiny glint to her eyes. It soon went out. ‘I could not, Kozaishō. I must do as my master requests.’
‘We have the same owner. She wishes you to heal. She ordered me to help you. Did you not tell me it is honourable to do as our master wishes?’
More tears, but she agreed.
I do not think I could have lived with her as an eta. That, or work as a lowly serving girl, would have been all that was left to her. I needed her with me.
She allowed me to attend to her. No cloth touched her skin because I had to apply salve to all her injuries. If covered, wounds festered, with greater danger of scarring.
Spring rains played drums on the ceiling. Hitomi gave us only a little charcoal, not enough to heat both of our huts. The meagre amount was enough to keep one hut warm. She rested with me, her futon next to mine. Too warm with clothes, I also slept without.
Nights were worse than days. Turning in her sleep awakened her, and her soft cries awakened me. Bodily functions were unbearable because of gashes to her Jade Gate. She did well, though, grimacing and making little noise. I fed her cooled rice water, as she had done for me. Tears formed in her eyes as she ate because her lips had been slashed.
To relax her, I combed her hair gently. I brushed her arms with my fingertips, rubbed her feet and stroked her face where there were no gashes.
Tashiko reminded me that the Buddha said all life was suffering. Then how could nothing be real? I saw her true suffering – yet she said all was transitory. I knew that eventually she would heal. Perhaps that was what she had meant.
I read ‘The Bodhisattva Medicine King’ to her and recited ‘The Constellation King Flower’, which said that if a woman heard that chapter and understood it, she would never be born in a woman’s body again. At least, that was what Tashiko said.
Days later, Tashiko’s fever gone, Hitomi and Rin came to check again. They scrutinised her body and the quality of my care.
Rin wanted to know when Tashiko could go back to work.
Hitomi said, mostly to herself, ‘Yakamashita knew better than to scar you. But even if you do scar, we could probably sell you. With your clothes on, no one will know you are damaged.’ She left, mumbling to herself, ‘He has cost me much in the past . . .’
At this, Tashiko’s salty tears on her injuries made her twitch in pain and opened the torrent of my anger. Sell her? They had better not. I would not lose her.
‘I will be vigilant,’ I promised her, and promised myself that I would keep my temper, holding her less badly cut hand.
‘Perhaps my destiny is to be disfigured. If I am, I will accept it,’ she said.
I would not accept it. To reassure her, I repeatedly read the part where the Medicine King burned his arms: ‘He said, “I throw away both my arms, yet I am assured I will regain the golden body of the Buddha.” His arms were restored instantly.’
This passage calmed Tashiko, so I read it every day.
After working so hard on the Noble Path, she was receiving all this pain! ‘How could Hitomi allow such a low worm to do such wickedness? And to you!’ I said. ‘You have talent. You had earned a place with the higher-caste customers, as I have.’
Tashiko stared at me.
‘How could Hitomi be so foolish, so wasteful as to throw you to Yakamashita?’ I asked Tashiko.
‘Greed. Jealousy. Of what others have.’ Tashiko pushed her eyebrows up, blanching. After a few breaths she said, ‘Every livelihood does not lead to the other seven of the Eight-fold Path. But the first seven of the Eight-fold Path lead to Right Livelihood.’
I looked at her. How odd. ‘That is exactly what Akio told me before we came here.’
‘Inflicting pain deliberately on others creates karma.’ Tashiko took small sips of water so she could talk more. ‘When Madam Hitomi values Yakamashita’s wealth most, she creates her own inago.’ She turned to a new position on the futon and grimaced with a deep grunt.
I patted her lightly where there were no wounds. ‘What about Yakamashita’s inago?’
‘Life’s suffering cannot be avoided. To impose it deliberately on others can be risky. Whatever a person created in this life, he will meet that inago in the next.’
‘What really happened?’ I had not dared to ask before.
Tashiko drank some water. She asked without words.
‘No. He was never a client of mine. I have never met him.’ I sighed with gratitude.
‘Wiry but quite strong. Quite wealthy. Very long fingernails. Requeste
d Tongue Cut Sparrow. Close to the end, but before miracle, I said, “The unkind wife cut the tongue of her husband’s favourite sparrow because it ate her rice paste.” His face flushed. Dark cinnabar. He breathed in. Hit me. Shouted. Called me an evil sparrow. “Evil! Evil!” He beat me. First hands. Fists. Nails. Those nails. Until I could not move. I do not remember when he finished.’
Sympathetic tears raced down my cheeks. I wished I had a spear to throw into Yakamashita’s heart. I wondered if I would have fought back, even though it was strictly forbidden.
‘Did you remember not to make a sound?’ I recalled what some of the more experienced Women-for-Play had told us.
Tashiko nodded.
‘Did you react to the blows? Any reaction causes more rage.’
‘I tried not to.’
We sat quiet for a time.
‘Recite “The Medicine King”. It provides relief from pain to all the living.’ Tashiko’s eyes smiled, the only part of her that did not hurt when it moved.
Such foolishness, I thought, but I read, ‘“Just as the thirsty are satisfied with a sweet, clear water, just as the freezing are warmed by fire . . .”’ I gave her water and stroked her forehead ‘“. . . a boat at a river crossing, an emperor for a people, a light that replaces all darkness.”’
‘So,’ Tashiko whispered, ‘the Lotus Sutra removes all suffering, all illness. It releases us from the karma of mortal life.’
I tried to believe as she believed, but could not. This sutra did not truly remove her pain, although I certainly desired it for her.
There was no honour here with these defilements, the blood and afflictions. Had I failed my family? Where could I find honour?
BOOK 6
I. A Bright Time
When Tashiko’s wounds no longer bled, I visited Main House and requested Purification rites. ‘Because of the blood,’ Tashiko had explained, when she asked for this.
I returned to tell her the bad news, my body tense with the fury of a cornered cat. ‘Daigoro no Goro is now the priest from Uji. He will come.’
Tashiko shook her head. ‘He performs the Purification rites here for women who give birth. Madam Hitomi boasted to us that she had obtained priests from both the Tendai Sect and the Taira Clan for her girls.’
‘I cannot believe that, with all the priests around here, he is the one.’ I wondered whether my bokken would be welcome at the ceremony.
We prepared for Purification with Abstention and Cleansing. We ate no food and drank only water for two days and two nights. Tashiko’s stomach rumbled, and by the first evening her breath smelt sour. I had not eaten much while I took care of her, and my stomach was quieter with only the water.
The next morning we went to the Purification hut. Tashiko scattered a pinch of salt in each of the four directions of the bath. We scrubbed, rinsed and soaked.
‘I wish to thank you, my dear friend, for all your hard work.’
‘No need.’ I prodded her with my toes. ‘I am happy you are finally well. Besides, no men.’ I relaxed in the water at the thought, but our eyes danced together.
We dressed in our best robes and went to a special place near the birthing hut. My empty stomach knotted itself into a hard ball and battered inside me. I saw Goro.
The damaged nose lay askew in the middle of that bird face. His thin hair was combed flat against his skull, as courtiers wore it. His clothes were made of fine silk and carefully arranged. His eyes were hostile.
Hitomi walked back to Main House and nodded to Goro before he entered the hut. In one hand he carried a small nusa, with only three white cloth strips attached to its short handle. His empty hand motioned to us, and we made the five-point bow.
‘May the Goddess Seori-tsu-hime, who lives in the white waters of swift-flowing rivers, purify you and grant you swift-flowing forgiveness.’ He lifted the nusa and brought it down on each of our shoulders, making a slight whistle.
‘May the Goddess Seori-tsu-hime, who lives in the white waters of swift-flowing rivers, send you white-water Cleansing with pure liquid forgiveness.’ He repeated the movements with the nusa, then turned to leave.
‘Honourable Daigoro no Goro, please, there is more,’ Tashiko called.
What in the nether world was Tashiko doing?
He spun round on one foot. ‘Do you not trust the Goddess Seori-tsu-hime?’ His lips pressed and puckered together.
‘Honourable Daigoro no Goro, we need to be purified. Completely. I trust the Goddess Seori-tsu-hime.’
‘You have had adequate Purification.’ His eyes gleamed like those of a rat in a night without a moon.
‘I trust the Goddess Seori-tsu-hime,’ Tashiko bit her lip ‘but . . . not you, Daigoro no Goro.’
My shoulders arched up to my ears. I placed my feet in a defensive stance. What would Goro do? ‘I, too, honourable Daigoro no Goro, wish to be fully cleansed and purified.’
‘How dare you question me?’ Goro inclined his head to mine, pushing his free hand towards us, palm down. Next he pointed to me. ‘And how dare you talk of our Buddha?’
Tashiko sat back on her heels. She quoted ‘The Medicine King’ and other parts of the Lotus Sutra to Goro. Each statement reinforced the belief that Nirvana was accessible to all.
Goro’s face flushed darker with each word she spoke, radiating fierceness like lightning strikes. His hands clamped on the nusa. It broke with a crack.
Tashiko assumed her five-point bow and sat back again. I imitated her.
‘You will pay – you will both pay – for this insolence. And impropriety. I am no Pure Land prostitute priest. I am Tendai.’ His face flashed evil. He turned and walked out of the hut. ‘Madam Hitomi will know how you broke the nusa.’
Bitterness sprang to my lips: ‘Do you know what you have done? What were you thinking?’
She shook her head. Her face had cooled to its usual pallor, despite the warm air in the hut. ‘I needed Purification.’ She forced her breaths, hard and noisy. ‘Tomorrow is the Twenty-third day of the Fifth Month. Where I grew up, we always drank sake. Prayed to Kannon-sama, Goddess of Mercy. Prayed to Yakushi Butsu, Buddha of Healing, and especially to Jizō . . . patron of people in Hell . . .’ Her voice trailed off. ‘I just wanted – to be properly cleansed, to worship with you, you and me . . . in the temple. You and me – with the Buddha.’ She bent over, tears gushing, and her chest heaved, like clothes flapping in the wind. I smoothed her head and back until she quieted.
I expected we would be among those who screamed that night, but neither of us received much punishment. I had acquired sufficient favour from Hitomi by soothing her important customers to avoid Hell Hut. She had lost money while I had not worked. Beating me or Tashiko would not be productive.
Tashiko brought out a tiny well-worn book from within her futon. ‘This is the sutra.’ She sang it in a chanting voice.
I sat on the floor. That Tashiko could treasure an object! Or that she had hidden such a beautiful thing from me, from everyone.
‘This is the sutra that says even a woman can reach Buddhahood.’
‘It cannot.’
‘Everyone says that a woman cannot reach Nirvana.’ She leaned over so our noses almost touched. ‘But in here,’ she tapped the book with the pad of her little finger, ‘it says we can.’
Somehow Tashiko found sake for the next day. ‘Since the priest did not complete our Purification, we are required to drink this. Because of all the wounds and the blood.’
I did what Tashiko asked, although I still believed as my parents did. We never had sake to cleanse blood, only water, rinsing mouths and hands. I promised myself I would do that also.
Tashiko returned to a full day’s work. I took a few of her clients to lighten her burden. At the end of the day she was rubbing her back.
‘May I practise on you to strengthen my fingers?’ I mimed a massage.
She answered by lying face down on her futon. I sat beside her, found the knots in her lower back and worked them on them until t
hey smoothed. After kneading her upper and lower back, my hands cupped her buttocks and lazily traced their perfect outline. The twilight, through the curtain of our hut, drew shadow patterns on Tashiko’s slightly reddened skin. My breath stilled. Had Otafukure taught me enough? I sighed.
She turned over and, with both hands, lowered my face to hers. Footsteps crossed outside and stopped me, head up, for a moment. I realised my thick hair had fallen over her body and blocked my sight of her. I pulled it away.
My hands found her breasts, firmer than Otafukure’s. A little breeze fluttered my door cloth. My fingertips kneaded her nipples, which contracted into small buds. My own nipples tightened. Tashiko showed crinkled skin over her shoulders and chest as if she were cold.
My hands advanced downwards to the places we had studied. Down to the sources of ecstasy. I noticed a small scar on her hip as I smoothed my hands over her glossy skin. Where had that come from? My fingers continued through her light brown hair. I pushed my face closer and inhaled her bush-clover woody fragrance. Tasted her salty sweetness. I lapped her substance. Tashiko did not sing, like Otafukure. She hummed the songs our mothers had sung. I heard the harbinger of spring, the brush warbler, its beautiful music. I thought of my father and how happy he would be to know I had found a new family.
Others chopped wood, gathered charcoal, cooked our food and even cleaned our costumes because of our status. Girls did all of that, as I had when I had first here come to at the Village of Outcasts. Tashiko and I enjoyed the bathhouse after the day’s assignment of men, my lessons and lessons to others, and my practice with Akio, whenever we could find time. Tashiko and I ate the evening meal alone in our hut, unless Hitomi or Rin demanded we go to the communal dining room. The quiet brought comfort.
The true joy began. Tashiko and I rubbed each other’s sore backs, feet, necks, hands and faces. Next came light licking and caresses until we both breathed short and heavy. The memories of the day’s monotonous offensives faded into a forgotten dream and our tender fantasies flowered. We joked to ourselves, named ourselves royal clothiers who worked embroideries. Tashiko liked arm and shoulder designs, while I preferred neck and feet. We stroked lightly and petted, wove brocades of gentleness with fervour.
The Pillow Book of the Flower Samurai Page 13
