Gai-Jin (74 page)

“The buying price, certainly. But I must send them to the Yedo or Nagasaki Yoshiwara. A difficult sale, but please do not worry, I will help you to be rid of an unwanted child.”

“Not mine,” he said sharply.

“Ah, so sorry, please excuse me,” she said, believing him. Good, I was afraid it was his, she told herself, greatly relieved. I want no more complications with this man. “It is not my business.”

“Just help for friend of friend. In Drunk Town.”

“Please excuse me, so sorry.”

He smiled without humor. “You know pearl. This value fifty times cost of medicine.”

She kept her smile in place and her voice cooing but inside she was gnashing her teeth. “I will have them valued. Of course they are worth more than the cost of the medicine.”

“Of course.” He held his palm flat and she took them. The pearls were almost black, Sea Island pearls. She touched them to her teeth to feel if they were cold and carefully bit on them but they did not mar. Satisfied now that they were genuine and rich, she said lovingly, “The price, old friend?”

“Price is: all medicine, even if first time fail. What necessary if drink fail, understand? What need … whatever need to stop child. Yes?”

“Yes,” she agreed happily, knowing this to be a marvelous bargain. “A guaranteed … elimination, termination.”

“Plus twenty gold oban,” he added, and was delighted to see her face twist with real horror though this was less than a third of what she would squeeze from the sale—the setting was of little value but he had made sure the Chinese jeweler only used the finest pearls. She groaned and cursed and they bargained back and forth, both enjoying the encounter, both knowing that the real cost of the medicine and medical advice was hardly significant to a brothel mama-san. Soon they were close to making a deal and then, of a sudden, her mood changed and she stared at him strangely, liking him, so sad for him, and thought: Should I interfere with karma?

“What?” he asked suspiciously.

“Let me think a moment, Furansu-san.”

Later, in an entirely different voice, warm and soft as in the old days when he had been her first customer and had lavishly wined and dined the whole House to celebrate their opening, she said, “Since we met, much water has flowed under many bridges, lots of good times and laughter in our Floating World and, as it is in this life, also sadness and a lake of tears, not of my choosing. Suddenly I remembered the last time we bargained like this was over Hana’s contract.”

His face settled into a mask. “Not talk about Hana.”

“Ah, so sorry, I would like to, please, because I may have a solution to her.”

“There none,” he said angrily. “No cure, Hana dead, Hana nothing do with pearls!”

“True. Please be calm and listen. Perhaps,” she said gently, “perhaps I could find another Hana, similar, but one who already has the Chinese disease.”

“Not possible,” he burst out, shocked. “Disease very bad, very bad, ugly.”

“Yes, near the end,” she said patiently. “Many times nothing shows for years. You are not yet ugly, nothing shows with you, Furansu-san—it may be years before that happens. It depends on your karma. I should seek such a one?”

He started to speak, stopped and shook his head.

“Listen, if I could find new Hana, and then if …”

“Not possible!”

“… if you approve her, and she approves you, you could be together until—until you decide …” Raiko shrugged. “Never mind the future, today is today and that is the rule of our Floating World. You would keep the girl here, I would build you a new house, the other naturally we destroyed, you treat her like Hana in every way, same contract price, same monthly money for clothes and lodging, and she is for you only.”

Her eyes bored into him and he knew she could see into his soul, see him writhing with a frantic, sudden hope and craving to accept that which would release him from torment—the news of his karma had travelled with the speed of light, now every House barred to him, politely—oh so politely—but still barred for pillowing, only Drunk Town possible—yet be a never-ending Damocles sword over him forever. And even worse, there was no lessening of his sexual urge but a heightening, a greater obsession to pillow than before, one that had already driven him to the insanity of two nights ago with Angelique, not that he did not still desire her, he did, more than ever, and knew without a release he would try again and would not fail next time. Blessed Mother, help me, he thought, near tears, I do not want to infect her too.

“There is another possibility,” Raiko was saying, her gaze curious. “We can discuss that later. Now Hana.”

“Not-talk-about-Hana!”

“I have to, Furansu-san. Now. You wanted to know how she died,
neh?”
Raiko saw his eyes focus and his breathing almost stop. “After you ran out into the night and she, weeping, told me the reason, I was as shocked as you and ordered her out of the House and cursed her even though she was like my own daughter. Of course you were right and you should have killed her not just hit her before you left, you are right and of course her mama-san should have told me, and she should have told me the mom—”

“Speak, speak slow…more slow.”

“Please excuse me but it is very hard slowly, but she should have told me the moment she knew. I was furious and left her to try to catch up with
you but failed. Then one of the maids … it was Mieko. Mieko rushed in to say that Hana had tried to hara-kiri …”

Raiko was perspiring now. This was by no means the first attempted suicide she had been involved in. There had been dozens during her years as apprentice, courtesan and mama-san—she had even been born in the Willow World, her mother a specialist courtesan of the second rank. Many suicides were successful, few by the knife, most by poison or drowning, some dual suicides between lovers, the man always impoverished, even samurai. But Hana’s had been the worst.

When she had rushed into the room she found the girl in agony, weeping and helpless, her neck slashed several times but no artery or vein severed and the windpipe only nicked. A little air bubbled from the cut that bled badly but not badly enough. She was crumpled on the futons, knife nearby, but her hand could not grip it and each time she tried to lift it it would slip from her grasp, all the time weeping and choking and retching, begging forgiveness and crying out, Help me … help me … help me …

“She was beyond all wish for life, Furansu-san,” Raiko said sadly. “I’ve seen too many not to know. If she had lived through that attempt she would have tried again and again, without ceasing. In this world, surely in ours, there does come a time when it is good and wise to go beyond. We put animals out of misery—it is right to give the same relief to a person. So we helped her. We calmed her and cleaned her and sat her up and she had time to say,
Namu Amida Butsu
, then I held the knife to her throat and peacefully Hana fell on it. That is how she died.”

“You … you kill … part … part kill her?”

“It was my duty as her mama-san,” Raiko said simply. Again she hesitated, sighing. No need for more tears. Those had been shed long since. I have none left. How many times when I was her age, hating my life and the way I had to earn my rice, did I not contemplate the same escape, even once cutting my wrists, to be succored and saved by my mama-san who, when I was well, beat me unmercifully. But she was right, my mama-san, as I was right, because she knew I was not serious as Hana was serious, and now I cannot even remember the face of the boy she had forbidden me, only that he was a poet. “Before she died Hana asked me to apologize again for her to you. To beg your forgiveness for her.”

“You … do you … forgive—forgive?”

What a strange question, she thought, startled. “That Hana was like last year’s cherry blossom scattered by the wind, no need to forgive or not to forgive. Just a petal of the Willow World. She existed but did not. You understand?”

In turmoil he nodded, not comprehending all the words, but understanding what she had done and why. He hated her and blessed her, was
relieved and sad and suicidal and filled with hope. “Three men, three who before me. Who?”

“I do not know, so sorry, except they were Japanese. Truly,” she told him, her eyes clean, the names buried in her most secret heart, waiting to use if necessary, for or against the Bakufu. “About these,” she opened her hand. The pearls glowed in the oil light, enticingly. “Let us agree that I give you one third of whatever I get from the sale, plus all medicines and whatever else is necessary. A third would be …” She stopped as
friend in Drunk Town
fell into place.

The medicine is for the woman who is to marry the tai-pan, she told herself excitedly. Wasn’t it she who was supposed to have lost some jewelry yesterday that I thought nothing of. It must be her, the pearls confirm it … and if it’s her, eeee, the abortion must be without his approval or knowledge or surely Jami-san would be the intermediary, not Furansu-san.

“A third would be fair,” she said, and was going to add smugly, to the young gai-jin woman who is to marry the tai-pan, but seeing Furansu-san staring gloomily into his cup, decided there was no need yet to divulge she had deduced the “who.”

Eeee, tonight has been most profitable, she thought gleefully. Knowledge of a secret abortion by such an important lady to bury, or to tell, could be extremely valuable, to the lady herself, before or after she marries, or to this tai-pan who is as rich as Adachi of Mito, before or after he marries, or even to one of his many enemies.

Next: through Hiraga I have this Taira firmly stuck to Fujiko’s Jade Gate—what is it about the girl that attracts Round Eyes to her? And last but not least, the solution to Furansu-san, my precious gai-jin spy, presented herself.

Raiko wanted to shout with joy but, carefully, she retained her most modest, sincere look. “A third? Furansu-san?”

Bleakly he looked up at her, nodded his agreement.

“You have told the lady there is a risk?”

“What risk? Raiko say medicine good most times.”

“It is, most times. But if the drink does not succeed, we … let us not worry about that now. Let us hope Buddha smiles on her and it is her karma to have an easy release, then to enjoy the good things in life.” She looked at him steadily. “And you also.
Neh?”

He stared back at her.

THURSDAY, 6TH NOVEMBER:

Dearest Colette: The weeks have rushed by, and tomorrow is my special day
, Angelique wrote, aglow with expectation,
I feel so good I can hardly believe it. I sleep marvelously my cheeks are rosy, everyone compliments me and my figure is better than ever
… No signs, nothing, she thought. Nothing. Breasts a little tender but that’s just imagination—and tomorrow all will be over.

She was sitting at the bureau in her suite facing the bay, the tip of her tongue between her lips, far too cautious to write anything that could possibly compromise her. What a lucky omen it’s his day for my new beginning.

Her steel-tipped pen hesitated as that name brought phantoms from the mists but she would not acknowledge them and they sank back into the depths again.

Thoughts of Colette and school and Paris distracted her for a moment and she stared out of the window at the ocean, slate grey and stormy with a sharp wind creating seahorses that ran ashore to woosh up the beach a hundred yards away, the other side of the promenade—merchantmen at anchor, bum boats loading or unloading, the only warship, the frigate
Pearl
, resplendent with her new mast and new paint steaming for her mooring, just back from Yedo.

But Angelique did not really see any of it, her eyes beguiled by the rosy future her mind was promising. Here, in her suite, it was warm and calm with no drafts, the windows well fitting, a fire blazing in the fireplace, with Malcolm Struan dozing comfortably in a tall red velvet chair, papers, letters and invoices in his lap and scattered about his feet. The connecting door was open. Her door to the corridor unlocked. This was their new custom. Safer, both had agreed, plenty of time in the future to be private.

Some days he would arrive early and conduct his business from her boudoir until noon when he would doze a few minutes until lunch; sometimes he would stay in his own suite and some days he would hobble downstairs to the offices below. He would always say she was always welcome there but she knew that was only a politeness. Downstairs was masculine domain. She was delighted he was working—McFay had told her that since “the tai-pan has taken charge, everyone’s more diligent, we’ve big plans hatching and our company’s humming …”

And so was she. No fear for the morrow. On the contrary, she was looking forward to seeing André in the evening at the Legation. Together they had hatched an excuse and she would move back there tomorrow for three days while her rooms were repainted, and new curtains made for the windows and four-poster that she had chosen from silks in their warehouse:

“But, Angel,” Struan had said, “we’re only here for a few more weeks, the expense really isn’t—”