Gai-Jin (54 page)

As she replenished their cups through the evening, smiling, totally attentive, never interrupting, she listened avidly though appearing not to, wanting to ask a hundred questions but much too well trained to do so. “Just listen, smile and pretend to be dull-witted, only a toy,” mama-sans drilled into all of them, “and soon they will tell you all you want to know without prompting. Listen and smile and watch and flatter and make them happy, only then are they generous. Never forget happy equals gold, which is your only purpose and only security.”

“In Yedo,” Hiraga was saying, “this Taira was really quite brave, tonight a coward. Fujiko, what is he like in bed?”

Smiling, she hid her surprise that anyone could be so indelicate. “Like any young man, Hiraga-san.”

“Of course, but what is he like? Is he in proportion—tall man, tall spear?”

“Ah, so sorry,” she dropped her eyes, and made her voice humble, “but Ladies of the Willow World are directed never to discuss a client with another, whoever he is.”

“Our rules apply to gai-jin? Eh?” Hiraga asked.

Ori chuckled. “You will get nothing out of her, or any of them, I tried. Raiko-san came and scolded me for asking! ‘Gai-jin or not, the ancient Yoshiwara rule applies,’ she said. ‘We can talk generalizations, but any client particularly—
Baka-neh!’
She was really quite angry.”

The two men laughed but Fujiko saw Hiraga’s eyes were not laughing. Pretending not to notice, anxious to appease him and at the same time wondering how she would have to service him tonight, she said, “So sorry, Hiraga-san, but my experience is little, with young or old or in the middle. But most experienced ladies say size does not guarantee satisfaction for him or for her, but that young men are always the best and most satisfying clients.”

She laughed to herself at the well-worn lie. I would like to tell you the truth for once: that you young men are the worst clients, the most demanding, the least satisfying. You’re all hopelessly impatient, you’ve plenty of vigor, require many entries, you’ve puddles of essence but little contentment afterwards—and rarely generous. Worst of all, however much a girl tries not to, she can become enamored with one particular young man and that leads to even more misery, disaster and most times suicide. Old is twenty times better.

“Some youths,” she said, answering without answering, “are incredibly shy, however well endowed.”

“Interesting. Ori, I still can’t believe this Taira just meekly turned away.”

Ori shrugged. “Meek or not, he should be dead tonight and I would sleep better. What else could he do?”

“Everything. He should have kicked the door down—an appointment is an appointment and Raiko not having a substitute ready was a further insult.”

“The door and fence are too strong, even for us.”

“Then he should have gone into the main street and got five or ten or twenty of his people and brought them back and smashed the fence down—he is an important official, the officers and all soldiers obeyed him at the Legation. That would certainly have made Raiko kowtow for a year or more and guaranteed he would have the service he wanted when he wanted—we might have had to run off too. That is what I would have done if I were an important official like him.” Hiraga smiled and Fujiko suppressed a shiver. “It’s a matter of face. Yet they understand face very well. They would have defended their stupid Legation to the last man, then the fleet would have laid waste Yedo.”

“Isn’t that what we want?”

“Yes.” Hiraga laughed. “But not when you are weaponless and grovelling like a gardener—I really felt naked!” Again a refill. Hiraga looked at her. Ordinarily, even though the girl of the evening was not particularly attractive, his normal virility and the saké would arouse him. Tonight was different. This was the gai-jin Yoshiwara, she had bedded them so was tainted. Perhaps Ori would like her, he thought, and smiled back at her for face. “Order some food, eh, Fujiko? The best the House can provide.”

“At once, Hiraga-san.” She hurried away.

“Listen, Ori,” Hiraga whispered so no one could overhear. “There’s great danger here.” He took out the folded poster.

Ori was shocked. “Two koku? That will tempt anyone. It could be you, not exactly, but a Barrier guard might stop you.”

“Raiko said the same.”

Ori looked up at him. “Joun was an artist, a good one.”

“I’d thought of that, and I’ve been wondering how they caught him and broke him. He knows many shishi secrets, knows Katsumata’s planning to intercept the Shōgun.”

“Disgusting, allowing himself to be caught alive. It is obvious we have been infiltrated.” Ori handed the picture back. “Two koku would tempt anyone, even the most zealous mama-san.”

“I thought of that too.”

“Grow a beard, Hiraga, or mustache, that would help.”

“Yes, that would help.” Hiraga was glad that Ori was back in his head again, his counsel always valuable. “A strange feeling to know that this is out there.”

Ori broke the silence. “In a day or two, soon as I can—I am stronger every day—I will go to Kyōto and join Katsumata to warn him about Joun. He should be warned.”

“Yes, good idea, very good.”

“What about you?”

“I am safe amongst the gai-jin, safer there than anywhere—so long as I’m not betrayed. Akimoto’s at Hodogaya, I have sent for him, then we can decide.”

“Good. You will be safer to try for Kyōto at once, before these pictures are sent throughout the Tokaidō.”

“No. Taira is too good an opportunity to miss. I will cache swords there in case.”

“Get a revolver, less obvious.” Ori put his right hand inside his yukata, moving it away from his shoulder, and scratched the bandage.

Hiraga was shocked to see the little gold cross on the thin gold chain around his neck. “Why wear that?”

Ori shrugged. “It amuses me.”

“Get rid of it, Ori—it ties you to the Tokaidō killing, Shorin and her. The cross is an unnecessary danger.”

“Many samurai are Christian.”

“Yes, but she could identify that cross. It is insane to take such a risk. If you want to wear one get another.”

After a pause Ori said, “This one amuses me.”

Hiraga saw the inflexibility, cursed him inwardly but decided it was his duty to protect the shishi movement, protect
sonno-joi
and now was the time. “Take-it-off!”

The blood soared into Ori’s face. His half smile did not change but he knew he was called. His choice was simple: refuse and die, or obey.

A mosquito buzzed around his face. He disregarded it, not wanting to make a sudden movement. Slowly his right hand pulled the chain away from his neck, breaking it. The cross and chain vanished into his sleeve pocket. Then he placed both hands on the tatami and bowed low. “You are right, Hiraga-san, it was an unnecessary danger. Please accept my apologies.”

Silently Hiraga bowed back. Only then did he relax and Ori straighten. Both men knew their relationship had changed. Permanently. They had not become enemies, just were no longer friends, allies always, but never friends again. Ever. As Ori picked up his cup and raised it, toasting him, he was pleased to find his inner rage so controlled that his fingers did not shake. “Thank you.”

Hiraga drank with him, leaned over and poured for both of them. “Now Sumomo. Please tell me about her.”

“I remember almost nothing.” Ori opened his fan and wafted the mosquito away. “The mama-san Noriko told me Sumomo arrived like a spirit with me on a stretcher, told her almost nothing except that a gai-jin doctor had cut me open and sewed me up again. She paid half Shorin’s debts and persuaded her to hide me. During the waiting Sumomo spoke hardly at all after asking about Shorin, what had happened to him. When the messenger returned from Yedo with your message she left for Shimonoseki at once. The only news she gave was that Satsuma is mobilizing for war, and your Choshu batteries had again fired on the gai-jin ships in the Straits, turning them back.”

“Good. You told her everything about Shorin?”

“Yes. She asked me seriously and then, after I told her she said she would be revenged.”

“Did she leave any message or letter with the mama-san?”

Ori shrugged. “She left nothing with me.”

Perhaps Noriko has one, Hiraga thought. Never mind, that can wait. “She looked well?”

“Yes. I owe her my life.”

“Yes. One day she will want to collect that debt.”

“Repaying her I repay you and honor
sonno-joi.”

They sat in silence, each wondering what the other was thinking, really thinking.

Hiraga smiled suddenly. “Tonight in the Settlement there was a big celebration, vile music and much drinking, it’s their custom when a man agrees to marry.” He quaffed his cup. “This saké is good. One of the merchants—the gai-jin you cut at the Tokaidō—is going to marry that woman.”

Ori was dumbfounded. “The woman of the cross? She’s here?”

“I saw her tonight.”

“So!” Ori muttered as though to himself, then finished his saké and poured for both of them. A little wine spilled unnoticed on the tray. “She’s to be married? When?”

Hiraga shrugged. “I don’t know. I saw him and her together tonight, he walks with two canes like a cripple—your blow wounded him severely, Ori.”

“Good. And the … the woman, what was she like?”

Hiraga laughed. “Outlandish, Ori, total buffoonery.” He described her crinoline. And her hairstyle. And got up and parodied her gait. Soon both men were almost rolling on the tatamis with laughter. “… breasts out to here, depraved! Just before I came here I peered in a window. Men clutched her openly, she and a man clutched each other, twirling in a sort of dance
in front of everyone to these horrid-sounding instruments, you couldn’t call it music! kicking up her skirts so you could see halfway up, and frilly white pants to the ankles. I would never have believed it if I hadn’t seen it for myself but she went from man to man like a one-sen whore and they all cheered her. The fool who’s going to marry her, he just sat in a chair and beamed, imagine that!” He poured but the bottle was empty. “Saké!”

At once the door opened, a maid came in on her knees with two new flasks, poured and scuttled away. He belched, the saké getting to him. “They acted like beasts. Without their cannon and ships they are beyond contempt.”

Ori glanced out of the window, towards the sea.

“What is it?” Hiraga was suddenly on guard. “Danger?”

“No, no, it was nothing.”

Hiraga frowned uneasily, remembering how sensitive Ori was to outside emanations. “Do you have swords here?”

“Yes. Raiko guards them for me.”

“I hate not having swords in my belt.”

“Yes.”

For a time they drank in silence and then the food arrived, small dishes of broiled fish, rice, sushi and sashimi, and a Portuguese dish called tempura—fish and vegetables dipped in rice flour and deep fried. Before the Portuguese arrived about a.d. 1550, the first Europeans to appear off their shores, Japanese did not know the frying technique.

When they were replete, they sent for Raiko and complimented her, refused the entertainment services of a geisha, so she bowed and left them. “You can go, Fujiko. Tomorrow, I will be here sometime after sunset.”

“Yes, Hiraga-san.” Fujiko bowed very low, content to be dismissed without further work as Raiko had already told her her fee was generous. “Thank you for honoring me.”

“Of course, nothing that you hear or see will ever be mentioned to the Taira or any gai-jin or anyone.”

Her head jerked up in shock. “Of course not, Hiraga-sama.” When she saw his eyes her heart lurched. “Of course not,” she repeated, her voice barely audible, bowed her forehead to the tatami and, deeply frightened, left them.

“Ori, we take a risk with that woman listening.”

“With any of them. But she would never dare, nor the others.” Ori used his fan against the night insects. “Before we leave we will agree on a price with Raiko to see Fujiko is placed in a low-grade house where she will be too busy to make mischief and be well away from all gai-jin, and Bakufu.”

“Good. That is good advice. It may be expensive, Raiko said Fujiko is extremely popular with gai-jin for some reason.”

“Fujiko?”

“Yes. Strange,
neh,?
Raiko says their ways are so different from ours.” Hiraga saw Ori’s smile twist. “What?”

“Nothing. We can talk more tomorrow.”

Hiraga nodded, drained the last cup, then got up, stripped off the starched yukata that all Houses and Inns habitually supplied their clients, and dressed again in the most ordinary kimono of a villager, rough turban and coolie straw hat, then shouldered the empty delivery basket.

“Are you safe like that?”

“Yes, so long as I do not have to uncover, and I’ve these.” Hiraga showed the two passes Tyrer had given him, one for Japanese, one for English. “Guards on the gate and at the bridge are alert, and soldiers patrol the Settlement at night. There’s no curfew but Taira warned me to be careful.”

Thoughtfully Ori handed the passes back.

He tucked them in his sleeve. “Good night, Ori.”

“Yes, good night, Hiraga-san.” Ori looked up at him strangely. “I would like to know where the woman lives.”

Hiraga’s eyes narrowed. “So?”

“Yes. I would like to know where. Exactly.”

“I can find out, probably. And then?”

The silence concentrated. Ori was thinking, I’m not sure tonight, I wish I was, but every time I let my mind free I remember
that night
and my never-ending surge within her. If I had killed her then that would have ended it, but knowing she’s alive I’m haunted. She haunts me. It’s stupid, stupid but I’m bewitched. She’s evil, disgusting, I know it, but still I’m bewitched and I’m sure that as long as she’s alive she will always haunt me.

“And then?” Hiraga said again.

Ori had kept all his thoughts off his face. He looked back at him levelly and shrugged.

WEDNESDAY, 15TH OCTOBER
:

André Poncin blinked.
“You’re pregnant?”

“Yes,” she said softly. “You see th—”

“That’s wonderful, that makes everything perfect!” he burst out, his shock turning into a huge beam, because Struan, the British gentleman, had wronged an innocent lady, and now could not avoid an early marriage and remain a gentleman. “Madam, may I congratulate y—”