Gai-Jin (90 page)

“Satsumas are trouble, I agree,” Hiraga said darkly. “As to Sumomo, I don’t know where to send for news of her, where she is or if she reached home safely—that could take her weeks, and more weeks for Father to send word here. News would take two, maybe three months.”

“You asked Katsumata to watch for her. He will have spies out from here to Kyōto. She can take care of herself, that one. You’ll hear soon.” Akimoto scratched his crotch irritably. To see Hiraga so unsettled was disturbing. “You know we’re almost locked in here. The Bakufu Enforcer patrols have been reinforced and they wander in and out at random. All the mama-sans are nervous and after the riot today, Raiko … she will not let us stay much longer.”

“As long as we pay we will stay. And as long as the tunnel is safe we can escape by sea if necessary. Curse Ori!”

“Forget him,” Akimoto said impatiently. “What should we do?”

“Wait. The gai-jin will provide us with cover—Taira will see to it.”

“Because of Fujiko? Eeee, he is mad. What does he see in that drab? I cannot fathom that. She is nothing but a drab.” Akimoto laughed and ran his fingers through the stubble of his hair. “Think I will try her one night, just to see if anything is special—even though she’s polluted.”

“Try her tonight if you want, Taira won’t be using her.”

“Raiko will already have given her other clients—she’s rapacious.”

“Yes, but Fujiko’s already paid for.”

“What?”

“My new arrangement is that Raiko will not offer Fujiko elsewhere unless she and I agree first—so I can keep her available for Taira at a moment’s notice, in case I decide. Try her if you want, she is cheap enough.”

“Good, I need all the cash I have left. Raiko squeezed a down payment out of me, rumbling about the extent of my credit.” Akimoto grinned and drained the flask into his cup. “I want to bribe one of the fishermen to take me out to the frigate—perhaps I can talk myself aboard one of the warships, pretending to sell fish. I must see inside an engine room, one way or another.”

Hiraga’s stomach heaved, thinking about his own visit. “Perhaps I could get Taira to take me again, with you this time. I can pretend you are
the son of an important Choshu merchant, a shipbuilder, anxious to do business with them, but any business must be kept secret from the Bakufu.”

Secret? How long will we be secret here? A tremble went through him. “It’s cold tonight,” he said, to cover his fear, which once again Akimoto politely feigned not to notice.

A few metres away in her own quarters Raiko had finished her makeup and was dressing for the evening. She decided on the new pink kimono. A large heron decorated the back, embroidered with gold filaments. For many months she had coveted it. Now it was hers, paid for with part of the profit garnered from the hugely successful sale of the pearl earrings. They proved to be even more valuable than she had estimated.

Eeee, she thought happily, the kami and gods that look after mama-sans were looking after me that day. A major business coup, all profit except for Furansu-san’s part. Money for the medicine was hardly worth considering though she had put a substantial debit in her open set of books. She smiled to herself. The cost was nothing but the knowledge of which plant and who could harvest it, at what correct season and how to make the infusion, ah, that was worth whatever the market would stand.

“The gai-jin princess will be a marvelous, long-term asset,” she murmured contentedly, pleased with what she saw in her full-length mirror. It was the only modern one in the whole Yoshiwara, imported especially for her from England, a present from a client. A small frown creased her forehead as she thought of him:
Kanterberri
, the gai-jin who was killed on the Tokaidō by those fools Ori and Shorin.
Baka!
He was a good client and most appreciative of my services in finding him the perfect mistress, Akiko, whose name is now Fujiko—very convenient for us that our Ing’erish gai-jin rarely share their women, prefer to fornicate in secret, with one woman, keeping her secret in our Floating World that is based on discretion and secrecy.

Taira none the wiser, Fujiko a new life and new lover. Good for everyone.

“Mistress? The gai-jin Furansu-san has arrived.”

“Good.” Raiko made sure the medicine was correct and put it beside the table. When she had kept André waiting the precise amount of time, neither too little nor too much, she sent for him. “Ah, Furansu-san, welcome to my humble House.” She poured thimbles of her best saké and toasted him. “You’re looking well.”

“Health! Ten thousand summers,” André replied politely.

She discussed the weather and the state of business and then came to
the first point. “Your choice of earrings was more perfect than I thought, your share comes to a little over double what you asked.”

His eyes widened, “Jésus, so much?”

“Yes.” She poured more saké, filled with glee at her acumen on both their behalfs for, of course, once a business deal was finally agreed between them, it was a matter of face that it was honored exactly. “My bank, the Gyokoyama, found the client, a Chinese silk and opium merchant from Shanghai who was visiting Kanagawa.” Another smile. She added delicately, “He indicated that he would be in the market for as many such trinkets as I could offer.”

His smile matched hers and he drained his cup and held it for a refill and toasted her, “To future trinkets!”

“Next, the …”

“Before next, Raiko. Why he pay so much?”

“In bad times a wise man puts part of his wealth into tiny things he can carry in his sleeve. He’s no fool—I considered holding on to them myself for the same reason.”

His interest quickened. “What bad times in China?”

“He said that all China was in revolt, famine everywhere, gai-jin business in Shanghai less than usual, though now that the English fleet laid waste the Mirs coast and sank many of the White Lotus pirates, the sea-lanes would be safe for a while and trade up and down the Yangtze would pick up in the spring. Eeee, Furansu-san, I hear they sank hundreds of junks and massacred thousands, many villages now in ashes.” Her fear was open. “Their killing power is terrible.”

She shuddered, knowing that though Japanese despised Chinese as weaklings, they shared the same great phobia: fear of gai-jin and an obsession to keep them forever out of their lands. “Will gai-jin fleets come against us when they return?”

“Yes, Raiko, if Bakufu not pay reparations money. War, yes. Not here, not Yokohama. Yedo.”

She studied her cup for a moment, wondering how she could further protect herself and turn this to profit, more than ever convinced that she must, somehow, quickly rid herself of Hiraga and Akimoto before it was discovered that she was implicated in the Ori disaster by harboring him and them, however righteous
sonno-joi
was. A wave of apprehension went through her and she fanned herself, complaining about the strength of the saké. “Karma,” she said, and shrugged off what “might be” for what “is.” “Now, some more good news: There is a girl I would like you to meet.”

André’s heart seemed to skip, and then, when it started again, it was more weak than before. “Meet when?”

“Do you wish to see her before we discuss business matters, or after?”

“Before, after, no difference. Will pay what ask, if like.” Again a Gallic shrug and the stark, naked desperation.

It touched her not at all. Why should it? she was thinking. The Yang’s hunger for the Yin is the essence of our world and without it our Floating World would float no more.

Strange that the Yang’s obsession to join with the Yin—in and out, battering at the gate, more pain than pleasure, desperate to end, desperate to continue, if to end never enough, if not to end moaning in the night—is all so transient, the Yin never so grasping. In that women are blessed, though the gods, if there are gods, have dealt all mortals a cruel hand.

Three times I have tried to go onwards, always because my Yin craved the possessor of a particular Yang—when a Yang is always more or less the same—always useless choices that brought nothing but misery, with no future and twice my passion unrequited. How foolish! Why? No one knows.

Never mind. Now the yearning of the Yin can be quenched so easily, and for a mama-san, toyed with. Easy to employ a Yang, or harigata, or to invite one of the Ladies to your bed. Fujiko, for example, who seems to enjoy the diversion and whose kiss can be celestial.

“Raiko know me, yes?” André was saying, and she thought, Indeed I do. “I know Raiko.” Indeed you do not. “We old friends. Old friends always help old friends.” True, true, but you and I are not old friends—not in its special Asian sense—and never will be. You are gai-jin.

“Furansu-san, old friend,” she said. “I will arrange a meeting, you and this Lady.”

He felt weak and tried to hide it. “Yes. Thank you.”

“It will be soon. Last, the medicine.” She reached down beside the table. The small package was carefully tied in a square of russet silk as invitingly presented as an expensive gift. “Listen carefully.” Again her instructions were explicit. She made him repeat them until she was sure he understood.

“Raiko-san. Please, say truth, medicine dangerous, yes, no?”

“Eeee, truth? Am I not a serious person? I am Raiko of the Three Carp. Have I not already told you? Of course it could be dangerous and of course not dangerous! This is an ordinary problem that happens all the time to all girls and the cure is rarely a problem. Your princess is young and strong and so it should be easy, with no problems.”

“Princess?” His features hardened. “You know who for?”

“That was easy to guess. How many women are there in the Settlement, special enough for you to help? Never worry, old friend. The secret is safe with me.”

After a pause, he said, “What problem possible?”

“Stomach pain and no result, just very sick. Then we must try a second
time, with stronger medicine. If that does not work then there is another way.”

“What?”

“Time enough for that later.” Confidently Raiko patted the silk. “This should be all that is necessary.”

“You understand, Angelique?”

“Yes, André,” she said, her eyes on the silk-wrapped package. Her salvation sat on his desk. They kept their voices down though the office door was closed against unwanted ears.

His clock chimed 10:00
P.M.

He looked back at her uneasily. “The mama-san told me it would be best if you had your maid with you.”

“That’s not possible, André, it’s not possible to trust Ah Soh, or anyone—didn’t you tell her that?”

“Yes, but that’s what she said.” From across the corridor they could hear the muted sounds of men laughing over the dinner table that she had just left—Seratard, Vervene, Dmitri and a few French officers—saying she was tired and wanted an early night. Going to her suite, by prior arrangement, she had happened to see André in his office. “We’d … we’d best check that everything’s there.”

He made no move to undo the silk. Instead he toyed nervously with a corner. “If Ah Soh’s not there to help, who … who will dispose of … of the bottles and herbs and … you can’t leave them around, and who will clean up?”

For a moment her brain became addled for, foolishly, she had not considered this problem. “I—I won’t need help, there won’t be … nothing except the bottles and herbs … and towels. I can’t trust Ah Soh, obviously I can’t trust her, or anyone, only you. I won’t need help.” Her anxiety to begin the treatment and have done with this forever capped all the worries that swirled about her. “Don’t worry, I’ll bolt my door and … and tell her that I’ll sleep late and not to disturb me. I … it should all be over in a few hours, by dawn, yes?”

“God willing, yes, that’s what the mama-san told me. I still think you should risk Ah Soh.”

“You’re not thinking clearly, no, not at all. You’re the only one I can trust. Knock on my door early, like this.” She rapped the table thrice, then once. “I’ll open it only to you.” Impatiently she untied the silk. Inside were
two small corked bottles and a packet of herbs. “I drink one bottle at once and then …”

“Mon Dieu
, no,” he said, wearily interrupted her, his nerves as taut as hers. “You must do everything in the correct order, Angelique. First you put the herbs to infuse in the pot of hot water you’ve arranged. When that’s done drink one bottle, drink it quickly and don’t worry if it tastes foul, use the honeyed green tea or a sweet to take away the taste.”

“I’ve some Swiss chocolates Monsieur Erlicher gave me, will those do?”

“Yes, of course.” He used a handkerchief to wipe the sweat off his hands, his imagination taking him down all kinds of lurid passages. “When the infusion is tepid, say after half an hour, sip half of the brew—it won’t taste good either. Then relax and wait, go to sleep.”

“Will there be a reaction, will I feel anything yet?”

“No, I already told you, no! The mama-san said that normally nothing happens until some hours later—it should be like a—a strong stomach cramp.” The more he talked about it the less he liked being involved. What if something goes wrong?
Mon Dieu
, I hope there’s not a second time, he thought queasily and tried to push the bad away—and embarrassment—and be clinical.

“It should just be like a stomach cramp,” he said, sweating even more. “That’s the beginning, Angelique, a cramp. I’ll start again: Drink the first bottle, then sip
half
the infusion, half of it, remember you must do everything in the correct sequence—relax and try to go to sleep, the more relaxed you are the easier it will be. When the—the cramps begin, gulp the last bottle, take some honey or sweet, then sip the last of the infusion—sip it, don’t swig it down. The cramps will increase and then—then it should begin to … the mama-san said it would be like a heavy monthly, so … so be prepared with a … a towel.” Again he used his handkerchief. “It’s close in here tonight, isn’t it?”

“It’s cold and there’s no need to be nervous.” She uncorked one of the bottles and smelt the contents. Her nose wrinkled. “Worse than a Parisian street toilet in August.”

“You’re sure you remember the sequence?”