by India Millar
And there he left me. That night, I used every trick I had ever learned in the Hidden House. I gripped him with my internal muscles until my thighs cramped and my belly hurt. I rode him fast, slow, barely moving. I kissed and licked and bit every inch of his body I could reach. I whipped him with my hair. When I was almost so exhausted I could barely move, he suddenly rolled over, taking me with him. He rode me as if he was an automaton, silently, with not even a grunt. As he reached orgasm, he took my hair in both hands and pulled it until I screamed. And then pulled it harder until my breath ran out and I was forced to stop in order to breathe.
I was terrified that I had over-stepped the mark, but it appeared I had not.
As we lay in the moth-colored darkness, I could feel he was smiling.
“There is no other woman like you in the whole of Edo, Kazuha. I chose wisely when I chose you. Did you miss me so much?”
I mumbled something that he hoped he would interpret as “yes.” He seemed satisfied, for in minutes he was asleep.
So now here I was, with my little maid at my heels, and Nekko trotting beside me, tail held high. I was eager for the friendship and the gossip of the Hidden House. This would be the last time I would see Kiku, for she was leaving the next day for her new life. I was desperate to talk to Mineko, too, to see if she had any thoughts on the conundrum of Big and my mother.
But I never saw Kiku. Never got to talk to my dear Mineko. I still hope that one day I may see Mineko again, if the gods are very, very good to me.
It started to rain, just as we turned onto Willow Road. It was not a heavy downpour, but a thick, chilly, grey drizzle that made people shiver and turn off the street for cover. The unknown nobleman’s carriage was parked outside the Green Tea House again, I noticed. I supposed I would have to ask the girls about him, yet again. Akira was certain to ask, and he was becoming increasingly impatient when I had nothing to tell him.
I glanced down, lifting my foot to avoid a puddle. I heard the maid scream, a sound that was cut off quickly, and I thought she must have tripped and fallen. I turned my head to see if she was all right, and then there was a figure at my side, a man, but I could tell nothing at all about him for he was lifting his arms and a bag was thrown over my head before I could even shout. The cloth was pressed into my mouth and held firmly in place. Another pair of arms clipped around my breasts and upper arms, pinioning me effortlessly, clutching me. I tried to kick out, but was hampered by my kimono. A second later, my feet were churning in the air and I was thrown over somebody’s shoulder and a moment after dumped – although quite gently – onto a soft bench. An indignant yowl informed me that Nekko was with me. I was pushed onto my side, and a body flung itself alongside me, keeping me both still and imprisoned.
There was nothing I could do. In truth, it took all my effort to breathe through the silk that was still around my head. I felt the bench begin to move beneath me and realized I was in the carriage that had been waiting outside the Green Tea House. Oddly, the carriage was not hurrying at all. The horses were moving at what sounded like a brisk walk, but without any urgency. I lay still, terrified beyond either moving or trying to fight.
I was certain that this was all Akira’s doing. I was right. He had tired of me. But it was not enough for the yakuza to dispose of my quietly, oh no! It had to be in a flamboyant gesture, to show the world that he cared nothing. That he was above everything and everybody else. That he would do what he wanted.
Tears leaked down my cheeks and I started to pray silently. I felt an overwhelming relief in knowing that I had received my mother’s letter. At least I would go to my death knowing that she had loved me. That I had been wrong all these years. Suddenly, I was sure that I had been wrong about Danjuro. He was dead. Perhaps he was waiting for me on the other side of death. The thought gave me courage, and I lay still. Oddly, Nekko had settled down on my back and was purring quietly to himself. Contrary cat!
The coach rolled on. I felt it stop at the gate to the Floating World, but the pause was brief and it must have been waved through quickly. Once outside the walls, the pace picked up, and I could hear and feel the movement of the fine horses pulling the coach pick up, first to a trot, then a fast canter. Even in my distress, I was puzzled. Why on earth was Akira taking me out of the Floating World? Did he intend to kill me in full view of the whole of Edo? Was his vanity that great? Probably.
We rolled on for an interminable time. It could have been ten minutes, it could have been nearer an hour. I had no way of telling. I was cold and deeply uncomfortable and terrified. Apart from the noise of the coach, everything was silent. Plucking up a little courage, I tried to speak to whoever was sitting against me, but I received no reply. I decided to save my voice for one last scream when I was finally taken out of the carriage. Nobody would pay any attention, of course, but at least I would feel better.
I was not even given the chance to do that. The carriage slowed and finally drew to a halt. I tensed, wondering if I might have the chance – the smallest chance would do – to wriggle free and make at least an attempt to escape. I heard somebody opening the door from the outside, but before I could move so much as a finger, I was scooped up in somebody’s arms, one arm beneath my shoulders and one beneath my knees. I had been cramped and still for so long, I felt my bones creak when I was moved. I did manage to scream, though. Long and loud. And repeatedly. But I had been right. Nobody came to see what was happening. As far as I knew, nobody even noticed. I was, after all, just a woman.
I didn’t matter. I had never mattered.
The thought suddenly raised fury in me. I did matter. I did. My mother had been the greatest geisha in Edo. My lover had been the greatest actor in the kabuki. Even the man who was about to kill me was the most powerful yakuza in Edo. I might matter to nobody in the whole world but myself, but I did matter.
I wriggled and screamed and thrashed. I caught the man who was holding me a blow on the nose and I was delighted when he grunted in pain. If I had to go, then I would go out fighting. Nekko joined in with gusto. He shrieked and yowled and – from the noises – I guessed he was digging his claws into somebody’s leg.
None of it did us any good. I was carried over uneven ground and then my captor tilted backward as he began to climb a steep slope. A steep slope that seemed to move beneath his feet. Fury gave way to renewed terror, and I clutched at his shoulders in fear that he would drop me. Whatever was happening, it was bitter for me.
Even through the fog of terror, I wondered who had taken me. Akira? No. If he wanted to harm me, and there was no saying that he did not, he would have done it as publicly as he possibly could. I had heard whispered tales of his cruelty to those who dared cross him. Men who had had their testicles sliced off and then treated with huge care to ensure that they lived to tell the tale. A business rival who had been found spitted on a long stake right in the center of Edo. A courtesan who had displeased Akira in some way and had had her hair shaved off and her lips sewn together. The tales went on and on. This was flamboyant enough for Akira, certainly, but it was too private. Had he wanted to humiliate me for some imagined slight, he would have made it as public as possible. After all, he had his reputation to maintain.
Perhaps it was simply fear of the unknown, but the idea popped into my head that a business rival of Akira’s was behind this, and that frightened me more than anything. If this rival yakuza wanted to get revenge on Akira, who knew what he might stoop to? I shuddered and bit my lip so hard to stop myself screaming out loud that I tasted blood on my tongue.
I was on flat ground again, but the earth was still swaying. I heard a door latch snick and then my captor was putting me down. Or at least trying to, as I still clung on for grim death. My hands and arms were detached firmly yet with an odd gentleness, and then I heard the door open again and the soft murmur of voices. I was weeping, tears running down my face into my ears. I sent up a prayer, Let it be done quickly, please. I was sure I could hear Nekko purring and cursed the faithless
beast heartily.
“Midori No Me.”
Then I knew then that I was already dead. That the worst was past and I could begin my journey into the next life. Even through the muffling hood, even through the strange noises that were gathering all around me, I knew who that voice belonged to. I would have followed it to the inner reaches of hell. Perhaps I had.
Gentle hands unwound the hood from my head and a slow hand wiped the tears from my face. As fast as they were wiped away, then faster still did they fall.
“I am so sorry, my love. So very sorry. It had to be this way. Nekko, get off.”
I scrubbed at my own face with my hands. My eyes were so bleary with tears I could barely see. But I had no real need of sight. I would have known him anywhere by his voice, by the feel of his body.
“Danjuro,” I whispered. For answer, he put his face into the hollow above my shoulder blade and kissed me gently. So very gently. Nekko shoved his whiskers into my ear and said, I am sure, “Told you so!”
I clung to Danjuro, incapable of saying anything. Although every one of my senses told me it was true, I dared not believe it. Was I asleep and dreaming? No, the bed I was lying on – and it was a bed of some sort, not a futon – was moving under my body. I could not dream a movement I had never felt before. The hood that had been over my head was beside me. I rubbed it between my fingers. Suddenly, I was coldly, furiously angry. I yanked my way out of his arms – and felt the lack of them immediately – and hit him, hard, across the face with the back of my hand.
“I thought you were dead!” I wailed. A lie, but only half a lie. I had worried he had been dead. There had been days when I was sure he had been dead. “And now you have me kidnapped. How dare you! Oh, Danjuro!”
My anger turned to relief and I sat and bawled. He wiped my face with a silk handkerchief and patted and stroked me, as if he feared something might be broken. He murmured my name over and over and I realized that he was as worried and distressed as I was myself. When my tears dried, he held me in his arms and said nothing, as if the mere touch of our bodies was enough.
“Midori No Me, I am so sorry. It had to be this way. If I could have gotten to you sooner, I would have. But it was impossible. We would both have been killed.”
Questions crowded my mouth. I started to speak, then stopped. When I could find words, the question that popped out was not the one I wanted to say at all. “Where am I?”
“You are on board a ship. We have left Edo harbor behind us. You are safe.”
Safe? I had never been on the sea in my life. This was his idea of safe? But at least the constant movement of the floor was explained. I paused, cautiously wondering if I liked the strange motion or not. I decided I did.
“Tell me.” I was exhausted. Suddenly, my whole body was limp. I craved sleep. But first, I had to know. Everything.
“It’s a long tale.” Danjuro was smiling at me. Did he know about Akira, I wondered? How he had kept me by his side like a chained dog? Used me like an animal? If he did not, then I would tell him. Everything. And if he decided to throw me overboard as a result, then so be it. I prayed that I was right.
“Why did you leave Edo?” At that moment, it seemed the most important question. After all, hadn’t I just heard him call me “my love”? Nothing mattered more than that.
He held me close and spoke softly into my ear. I struggled to keep sleep at bay at first, but as his story went on, I became more and more alert. If only I had known. If only.
“I told you I had stopped Akira from buying the kabuki?” I nodded, snuggling against the silk of his robe. I could feel his heart beating against my face. He had told me, a lifetime ago. “I knew then that I had made a terrible enemy, and that I would have to be careful for a long time. But then I heard that Akira was taking an interest in you, Midori No Me.”
I mouthed the word “no” against him. It had not been like that. Akira had wanted me because Danjuro was my lover. I tried to explain that to him, but he shushed me.
“No. He wanted you because you are beautiful and you are spirited and there is no other woman like you in the whole of Edo. He wanted to tame you. To make you his creature. Did he try?”
I shuddered and nodded. Oh, yes. Akira had tried.
“And did he succeed?” Danjuro’s voice was very gentle, but also compelling. He wanted the truth, at any cost. I did not even have to think.
“No,” I said exultantly. “No, he did not. You always said I was a wonderful actor, Danjuro. Toward the end, he thought he had me where he wanted me, but he was wrong.”
Silence fell for a moment, and I could feel him smiling as he stroked my hair. A thought occurred to me abruptly and I sat up, away from him. For the first time, I looked fully at his dear face. He looked older, I thought. I touched the wrinkles at the corner of his eyes that had not been there before. His face was…naked to me. No longer Danjuro the great kabuki actor, this was simply my man. My lover. He was staring back at me with the same intensity. I relaxed, and reached up to my hair, finding the hated kingfisher beak combs by touch. I pulled all four of them out and threw them on the floor, allowing my hair to fall past my shoulders.
“He gave them to me,” I said. “I always hated them. As soon as I get a chance, I will throw them into the sea. Akira did not tame me, Danjuro. But he did put his mark on me, and it will be there forever.”
I had to show him. Had to show him that no matter how long the gods gave us together, I could never lose the mark of the yakuza. I had to make sure that he could – not forgive me, as I had had no choice in the matter – but that he could live with it. I lifted my hair from my neck, lowered my kimono, and turned my back to him.
His fingers traced the pattern lightly. I waited until he had taken his hand away and turned to face him.
“I must live with that,” I said quietly. “You do not have to.”
He nodded and stood. “Akira has done us both great wrong.” He undid the sash of his robe and pulled it aside, and I gasped with horror and empathy. It was as if Danjuro had tried to commit seppuku. A great scar ran across his belly from left to right, starting high up on his ribs and running almost into his black moss. I closed my eyes in sick horror. Just as he had done with my neck, I ran my fingers across the scar, and then – unable to even comprehend the pain he must have felt when this was inflicted – put my lips to it and planted a row of tender kisses on the entire length. I laughed out loud when Danjuro responded, his penis thrusting toward me.
Nekko was pushed aside as all questions were put away for the time. I opened my arms to him and my lover entered me immediately, sliding into my wetness as if I was the scabbard to his sword. He belonged there, and always would.
Our lovemaking was almost unbearably tender, and short. We were hungry for each other, and this would have to do. For the moment at least. Satisfied and – at last! – sure I was not dreaming, I lay back on the strange bed with Danjuro at my side. He threw his robe over both of us for warmth, and Nekko slid himself comfortably in the small of my back. When I could speak again, I asked, “Akira did that to you?”
“He did. It was supposed to kill me. He didn’t do it himself. He had two of his thugs hold me down and a third wielded the sword while he watched and grinned. I often wondered why it wasn’t he who actually did it, and I still don’t know why. Perhaps it was one thing he couldn’t stand to have on his conscience, who knows? When my body was found, it would have been thought that I had committed suicide. There would have been no connection with Akira. But it did not kill me. I have very good friends who came to find me. They got a physician to me and I healed.” Danjuro paused, and I wondered if he was remembering the pain. I shuddered as I recalled Akira-san telling me casually that Danjuro had received death threats. How that must have amused him! “It took a long time for me to recover, but I was determined that Akira was not going to win. That he was not going to kill me and keep you. I told you there was danger for me, before this happened… Afterward, I had to disappear, I wa
s supposed to be dead. If Akira had found out that I had survived, he would have gone to any lengths to finish me off. That is why I couldn’t get word to you, dear one. You are a good actress, but if you had known what was going on, there would have been a time when you let your guard down. You would not have been unhappy enough. He would have sensed it. And Akira would have done anything to get the information out of you, no matter how he felt about you. ”
“He didn’t care about me,” I protested. “I was useful to him, and he liked the idea that he had taken me away from you. That’s all.”
“No, you’re wrong.” Danjuro smiled. “It was the talk of the Floating World. The great yakuza had been bought to heel, by a woman at that! Did you never wonder why he let you roam about Edo, just accompanied by a maid? It was because you were never in any danger. Had anybody so much as spoken to you, they would have been a dead man. Even Akira’s rivals dared not hurt you.”
I shook my head in amazement. “Was it Akira who burned the kabuki?”
“Yes. If he couldn’t have it, then nobody else was going to.”
I rubbed my hand against my lips. Something did not make sense. “There was a body found in the ashes of the theater. Everybody said it was you. Akira tried to make me believe it was, but I never believed him. But if he thought you were already dead, why did he put somebody else in there?”
“He didn’t,” Danjuro said quietly. “He thought he had killed me with this,” he said, rubbing his hand on the terrible scar. “He thought with me gone, he could buy the kabuki easily. But he didn’t reckon with the spirit of those who were left. They would still not sell to him. So he decided if he could not have the theater, then nobody would. That is why he set fire to it.”
