by India Millar
My mouth opened and closed, but no words came from between my lips. I had rehearsed my audience with Akafumu over and over again in my mind until I was sure I had an answer for anything he might ask me. But I had never considered this.
“Nothing was actually agreed, lord,” I said quickly.
“I understand. No matter. As your daimyo, it is my duty to stand in place of your father,” Akafumu said graciously. “We are aware of his intentions. I have already spoken to Tadatomo-san. In addition to the money raised by the sale of the wretched female insurgents, which I have no doubt you will want to spend on clothes and fripperies for your wedding ceremony, I have agreed to provide a dowry for you.”
I found my voice at last, but it was no more than a strangled yelp. In his grandeur, Akafumu interpreted it as delight. He waved his hand as if bestowing a blessing upon me.
“You may go, Keiko-san. I shall attend your wedding if it doesn’t conflict with anything I already have arranged, and always supposing the shogun doesn’t call me to his presence.”
I was dismissed. Akafumu called for one of his courtiers to come forward as if I was suddenly invisible.
I rose and bowed deeply, backing away from his presence in the correct manner.
I was shaking with fury. I wanted to throw myself at Akafumu. He was well guarded, but I had no doubt at all that my hands could squeeze the life out of his kintama before anybody could stop me. I could feel them squeaking together between my finger and thumb and then realized my fingers were clenched tightly and it was my own palm that I was holding so firmly it had swollen.
I heard the doors open behind me and I knew I had lost my desperate gamble. Once the doors were closed in my face, I shook myself like Matsuo coming out of water, throwing my head back and standing straight.
“How did it go?” Yo was suddenly at my side, unseen and unheard until he chose to make his presence felt.
“It went as well as could be expected, I suppose.” I smiled wryly.
“He turned you down,” Yo said quietly.
I shrugged and rubbed my arm absently. The ashes itched; suddenly, I wanted nothing more than to be clean. To throw off my disguise of mourning and to return to my life.
Whatever it held for me.
Three
Watch! Frost melts at my
Touch. If only winter could
Be lost so quickly
We stepped aside as a man—reasonably well off by his dress—approached the doors that had just closed behind me. He glared at me, obviously expecting me to move aside. I stood my ground until Yo grabbed my arm and tugged me away.
“I am so sorry, master. We did not intend to get in your way.” He bowed his head courteously. “My lady is in mourning, as you can see. She has just left Lord Akafumu’s presence and is overwhelmed with joy by her lord’s generosity.”
“Really? He’s in a good mood, then?” Yo nodded and the man grinned widely. “Excellent.”
He pushed through the doors jauntily before they were even fully open.
“Why did you lie to that person?”
Yo had hold of my elbow and was turning me away as I spoke. His face was serious, but I could feel the suppressed laughter vibrating in his body.
“I didn’t like the way he pushed past you.” He smiled sweetly. “It struck me that if he was willing to treat a poor woman in deep mourning that way, it was entirely possible that with a little encouragement he might not treat Lord Akafumu with the respect he normally receives.”
I smiled slowly.
Once outside the court, we were suddenly invisible. The courtyard was crowded with servants and Akafumu’s retainers, all bustling about briskly. I wondered cynically how much of it was real urgency and how much was just for show to impress anybody who might be looking with their importance. Yo obviously didn’t care. He pushed his way through to a well and filled a bucket with sweet, cold water. I accepted the dipper gratefully, pouring water over my hair repeatedly, and then my hands and wrists, and finally my face and feet. It took a long time to wash away the last of the ashes, and even then, my skin itched as it was still filthy. Yo filled the dipper again, and this time I took a long drink.
I sat, watching the court fuss around us, my feet and hands stretched out to dry in the cold winter sun. Even though Yo was my lover, and had proved himself to be a rock I could depend on, I was oddly reluctant to speak to him. I had done my best, but I had failed. I felt intensely foolish that I had even hoped to get what I wanted from Akafumu. I could imagine Yo shrugging, asking if I had really hoped for anything better? I flinched from the thought and stayed silent, pretending to be absorbed in the activity around us.
Yo perched beside me without speaking. I was puzzled. I expected somebody to challenge us, to ask what business we had there. Nobody paid us any attention at all.
“It’s as if we’re invisible,” I marveled. “Is this what it feels like to be shinobi?”
“Yes,” Yo said simply. “Do you like the feeling?”
“Do you know, I think I do.”
I grabbed Yo’s arm and nodded as the man who had pushed past us earlier strode across the courtyard. His face was stone, but it was evident from the rigid set of his body that his mission had not prospered. I expected him to stop and vent his anger on Yo, but it seemed that we were invisible to him as well.
“He didn’t notice us,” I said in surprise.
“We don’t exist.” He nodded at the man’s retreating back. “He’s too full of the affront to his dignity to notice anything else. Everybody who belongs at Akafumu’s court is used to seeing supplicants. We come, we go. We have no part in their routine, so they don’t bother taking any notice. You understand?”
“I think so. Is that what you do when you are shinobi? Make yourself ordinary? Is that the secret of it?”
“That’s part of it.” Yo stared at me, and I knew his patience had worn thin. He wanted to be told what Lord Akafumu had said to me. I sighed; no point in putting it off any longer.
“Lord Akafumu was very sympathetic. The surviving villagers who killed Father and Isamu have already been executed. Their women—along with our maidservants—have been sold off as slaves. Our poor maidservants had taken refuge with the villagers. Where else was there for them to go? Akafumu seemed to think I would be pleased that they had all been suitably punished.”
“That was it?” There was a curious note in Yo’s voice. I kept my eyes on the ground. I did not want to see his expression when I told him the rest of it.
“No. My daimyo has given great thought to my predicament. He has decided in his wisdom that the gods will be pleased if I follow my father’s plans for me. He is going to give me a dowry, and I’m to marry Tadatomo-san. He’s the elderly widower Father finally chose for me. Such is the benevolence of Lord Akafumu that he’s also going to let me have the money he raised from selling our servants. I suppose it’s a sort of wedding present. He told me I could spend it on anything I fancied for my wedding.”
My throat was suddenly dry. I had run out of words. I stared at the floor, waiting for Yo to speak. If he laughed at me, lover or not, I would tip him backward into the well and leave him for the court servants to fish out.
Luckily for both of us, he did not laugh.
“And your family estate? What about that?”
“He laughed at the idea that a mere woman might take the title of samurai,” I said sourly. Shame at the way I had been dismissed by Akafumu turned into blazing fury. I wanted to force my way back into the audience chamber and demand that he listen to me. That he give me what was rightfully mine.
I half rose, but Yo grabbed my wrist and held on to me.
“No,” he said sharply. I tugged away from his grasp, infuriated by his response. Who was he, or any other man come to that, to tell me what to do? “Please, Keiko-chan. Listen to me.”
I sat down slowly, my temper ebbing as quickly as it had risen. I felt empty and dull. He was right, I supposed. Akafumu had insulted me once alre
ady today, why give him the chance to taunt me again?
“That didn’t come as a surprise to you, did it?” I asked.
Yo shook his head. “No. None of it did,” he said simply.
“If you were so sure of the way it was going to go, why did you encourage me to humble myself in front of Akafumu?” I stared at him incredulously.
“You had to try. According to your own samurai code, it was the right thing to do. Besides, if you hadn’t tried, you would have tortured yourself for the rest of your life, worrying and wondering if something might have come of it. And there was always the slightest chance that you might have caught him in a really good mood and got something out of it. It didn’t work, but now your conscience is clear and you can move on.”
“I suppose so,” I said ungraciously. “But I still want to know what’s going to happen to the family estate. It should be mine, Yo.”
“It should. But the only way you’re going to get it is by marrying your old man. And even then, it would not be truly yours.”
I stared at him and licked my lips. For once, I waited before I spoke and found the answer to my unasked question myself.
“Akafumu would give my land to Tadatomo if I married him?”
Yo said calmly, “I think it’s possible. I seem to remember that Tadatomo’s lands adjoin your family estate?” I nodded. “That was probably one of the reasons your father thought he was so suitable for you. No doubt your daimyo thinks the same way. Of course, it’s essential that land be kept in the hands of the aristocracy.” He grimaced as he spoke and I almost smiled as I understood what he really thought of that idea. “You told me that Tadatomo has no children by any of his wives or concubines, and he has outlived all the other men in his family. He’s a very old man now; how likely is it that you would bear him male children under the circumstances? If he died without male heirs, then Akafumu would be expected to claim your joint lands for himself. All he has to do is wait a while.”
I took another dipper of water; my hands were shaking so hard a great deal of it spilled. I drank deeply from what remained. I was aware that Yo was watching me carefully. I turned my head and looked at him. His face—just like mine—gave nothing of his true thoughts away.
“I see. I had hoped that the gods spared me for a reason. And now I believe I know what it is. Akafumu is a selfish and greedy man. He intends to wipe out my entire heritage as if it never existed without thinking twice about it.” I paused as my emotions threatened to overcome me. “I see now that is why I was spared. I may have lost my chance to claim our estates, but as long as I walk this earth, the name of Hakuseki will live on in honor and our heritage will not become dust. And as well as that I will make sure that my menfolk are avenged for what he tried to do to us. Will you help me do that, Yo?”
“And if I say no? Will you bring down the great daimyo on your own?”
I wondered if he was mocking me and looked at him very closely. His face was open to me, but still I wondered. He was shinobi; deception was bred into his very bones.
“Yes. Or at least I will die trying. If you can’t bring yourself to help me fight to put right the wrongs that have been done to my family, then walk away from me now. There’ll be no ill feelings. It’s different for me. I’m onna-bugeisha. It’s up to me to carry on the samurai tradition of my family. I wouldn’t expect you to understand that.”
“I see. But would you miss me, onna-bugeisha?”
“Yes,” I said simply.
“Then, I’ll stay.”
I wiped my hands over my face to hide my pleasure from Yo. I wished the weight of my samurai heritage did not lie so heavy on my shoulders. I had accepted it; I would not deny it. But at that moment, I felt a great urge to be free of everything. Had I not been samurai, I could have put my arms around him. Accepted his embrace and shown my delight that he had agreed to share my burden and my future both. But centuries of tradition lay between us and I sat stiffly, wordless.
“Thank you,” I said with absurd politeness.
“Think nothing of it.” Yo’s voice was so cheerful, he startled me. When I turned to look at him, he was grinning broadly. “Fortunately for both of us, I am not samurai. I am shinobi. I am less than nothing. As you once told me, I’m nothing but a mercenary who’s happy to be paid to do the dirty work of the highest bidder. No code of bushido for the likes of me!”
I was speechless. I blushed deeply, shrugging my shoulders with embarrassment.
“Yo, I’m sorry,” I mumbled.
“No, you’re not.” Yo’s grin faded to a wry smile. “You meant it. But do you understand the irony of it, Keiko? You’re now exactly the same as me. You have nothing except what you can gather by your wits. I suppose you can think of yourself as an honorable ronin if it makes you any happier. But it doesn’t make any difference. You have no lord; you gave the right to his protection away when you decided you were not going to obey Akafumu and marry old man Tadatomo. You have no family left. Even Emiko bears the name of her husband. The day she married him, she left your family for his. You are left with me—a mercenary shinobi with neither family name nor an honor you would understand. But I tell you now that I will be at your side until the day comes that you tell me to leave you and you mean it.”
He seemed to have run out of both breath and words and stopped abruptly. It was the longest speech he had ever made, and I loved him all the more for the honesty that rang in it. But still, an imp of mischief made me want the last word.
“If I am ronin, then I still have my honor, Yo.”
He shrugged sulkily, and I knew I had hit home. Every Japanese child knows the true story of The Forty-Seven Ronin. When I had been much younger, Isamu had made me enact the story with him in play. Isamu began, of course, as Asano-san, the samurai who was forced to commit seppuku unjustly. Once that bit of drama was out of the way—with Isamu suffering most nobly before he died—he immediately resurrected himself as Oishi, the leader of the men who became ronin and put themselves outside of society in their search for justice for their dead lord.
Isamu always made me play the villain, Kira. Much against her will, Emiko was often rounded up to play one of the other ronin, together with any servants Isamu could find. I had often thought that Emiko resented being made to play alongside servants. In any event, just as in history, Isamu in his new role as a defiant ronin finally took his revenge on me—or rather on Kira—and murdered me. At which point Isamu and the rest of the ronin had to commit seppuku yet again to atone for his dishonor in killing Kira. No matter how Isamu rolled his eyes at her, Emiko always refused to sit on the ground to do it, in case she got her kimono dusty. I often thought that was the part of the play he relished most, the chance to die an honorable samurai’s death not once, but twice.
My nostalgia died as quickly as it had come as I thought of the death Isamu had actually suffered. Truly, he would have committed seppuku a hundred times over rather than die dishonorably at the hands of a peasant wielding a musket.
“I’m sorry,” I said again, and meant it. “I forgot myself. Forgive me, Yo. It must seem to you as if I’m just hanging onto a past that has no meaning at all for me. I can’t help it. I was raised in the knowledge that I was samurai. When Isamu trained me to become onna-bugeisha, I felt as if I had found something I had been searching for all my life. Everything else that mattered has been taken away from me. I can’t let that go as well.”
“I understand. We are what we are. If it pleases you to think of us as ronin, then that is what we shall be.”
A little of the frost around my heart began to melt. I put my finger to Yo’s face and stroked his cheek. We smiled at each other in perfect understanding until our peace was shattered by a servant, shouldering his way to the well.
“You two might have all day, but I haven’t. Move, will you?” he snapped. We stood up abruptly, moving out of his way as he splashed the bucket down into the well, cursing under his breath all the time. I stared at him in amazement. How could it be
possible that the world was going on in the same way as always when everything that mattered to me had been destroyed with a few words? Yo put his hand on my arm and I felt a little comfort in his touch.
Whether it was enough was another matter entirely.
Four
Bats are silent to
Our ears. Would I could fly with
Such quiet intent!
“What?” I realized that Yo had said something, but I was so lost in my thoughts I had no idea what his words were.
“I said, have you seen the state of this place?” Yo sounded bone-weary. I was bewildered, both by the comment and his obvious annoyance. I glanced around and shrugged.
“You’re right,” I agreed in surprise. “It could do with a really good clean.” I patted the cushion I was sitting on briskly and a cloud of dust made me cough. Glancing at Yo, I was amazed to see him shaking his head incredulously.
“You don’t see the dirt, do you? The mess this place is in? You’re so wrapped up in thoughts of getting revenge on Akafumu that nothing else matters to you.”
I thought about his words and found myself bewildered. He was right, but why should he find it surprising?
“You think a bit of dust is more important than restoring my family’s honor?” I asked politely. Yo’s response left me deeply confused.
“It’s not just the dust, is it?” I raised my eyebrows in mute question. “It’s you. You don’t care about anything at all except for your honor.” He almost spat the word at me. “The house is filthy. We’ve never eaten a meal here because you can’t or won’t cook. Our clothes need washing. Even Matsuo could do with a good brush. I sometimes wonder if you’d notice if I just walked out and never came back.”
Ah. That was it, then. It wasn’t my neglect of the housework that was infuriating Yo, it was my neglect of him. He was right. My thoughts were pulled toward Akafumu constantly. I had thought of—and discarded—a hundred schemes to get my revenge on him. And with each failure, I became angrier with myself. He was my last thought at night and my first waking thought in the morning. I found it impossible to concentrate on anything else. But surely Yo, of all people, must understand that.
