The Scent of Sake (16 page)

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minutes, the next few hours, there was nothing for Rie or Saburo but each other.

Some time later, still in the afterglow of love, Rie started. “Have the crickets become silent?”

Saburo pulled away and raised his head. “Perhaps so.”

Rie sat up. “Oh! I must get back before dawn. No one must see me.”

“Wait!” he said, drawing her to him. “Why did you come here?”

She knew that he was asking about Jihei, but she only shook her head.

He lifted her chin, forcing her to look him in the eye.

“He has others,” she said, lowering her eyes to his lips, unable to look at him directly.

“And the child?”

“Hers,” she said, feeling the burn of shame.

“Oh,” he said, lifting her chin again. The sympathy she saw in his eyes was too much and a tear trickled down her cheek. “Then maybe we shall have our child of love.”

His words were too much to bear. She closed her eyes, knowing she must leave but wanting to savor the gentleness of his touch. Without it, she would shrivel up and die as surely as cherry blossoms on the third day.

“I must go,” she finally said.

Saburo touched Rie’s back, caressed her shoulders. “I know.

Something like this . . .” His voice caught.

Rie sensed he meant to say they might never have this time together again, this timeless time. She longed to tell him they
would
meet again, she would make sure of it, but she did not know if they ever could. They rose and dressed quickly.

“We never spoke of Yamaguchi,” Rie said. They both laughed and held hands.

Rie walked to the door, Saburo behind her. They embraced,

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then Rie pulled away. She reached for the shoji, and Saburo touched her face.

As Rie moved to leave, Saburo took from a pouch tied to his waist a small tortoiseshell hair ornament and handed it to Rie. “This belonged to my mother. I would like you to have it to remember me.”

Rie took it and held it closely. “I need nothing to remember you by. But I shall cherish this always.” She kissed him, and reached into her simple obi for a small ivory netsuke which she handed to Saburo. “This was in my grandfather’s collection.” She had kept it on her always as a cherished memento of her grandfather. “Please keep it with you.”

Saburo smiled and put it in an inner pocket. “I will wear it close to my heart so it will never forget its song.”

They clung to each other, then Rie broke away. “Please be careful, Rie. Shall I find you a ricksha?”

“There’s no need.” She pulled the shawl over her face. “One should be waiting.” She peered out the gate. “I see one at the corner.” She turned, embraced Saburo, and stepped out quickly. She glanced back, and saw Saburo watching. Then with immense sorrow, she stepped up into the ricksha to return to her life, to the Omura House.

Rie alighted from the ricksha beyond the house, so as not to awaken the family, and walked as quietly as possible on her wooden geta. She noticed the first hint of dawn above the kura rooftops as she went to the gate.

“O-Natsu,” she said softly.

The gate opened and O-Natsu looked at Rie inquisitively.

Rie smiled. That was all O-Natsu was getting out of her. “Is my husband here?”

“No, and I have laid out your futon.” “Thank you, O-Natsu, I’ll take a brief rest.”

Rie removed her geta and crept upstairs. She discarded the peon’s clothes, lay down, and remembered every moment of her rendezvous with Saburo. Then she slept more peacefully than she had in years.

Not long after, she awoke and knew by the birdsong in the garden that the day had already begun. She wished she could remain at leisure to savor her memories, but it was not possible.

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Yoshi would miss his lessons, and Kin and her father would notice if she did not stop in the inner office to learn the day’s plan.

Why was it, she wondered, that society prohibited what she felt in her inner being was right and expected only what her instinct told her was not right? She arose, dressed quickly, and went downstairs to attend to her obligations, her responsibilities, her many duties. During every spare moment, though, she would allow herself to remember. Her private life was hers to keep. She walked into the garden and sat on her favorite rock, stealing a few precious moments to silently thank the gods.

Over the next few days Rie realized something she had never known was possible: her body, her physical being, felt happy, satisfied. She relished the sensation and cherished the memories of a night she knew would remain in her heart as long as she lived. She smiled inwardly every time she thought of Saburo, and she thought of him now each morning when she arose, each night as she retired.

A few weeks later Rie felt the familiar lack of hunger, the slight nausea that had signaled her first pregnancy. O-Natsu agreed that she was indeed pregnant. Rie recalled her failure to produce an heir and prayed that this time she would bear a child, Saburo Kato’s child, for it was surely his. Then she realized that this meant she would also once more have to endure the indignity of sleeping with Jihei. This would require some effort and endurance on her part, since Jihei was so seldom home at night. Normally she was relieved at his absence, but this time his presence was required. Rie resented not being able to simply revel in her secret, instead having to plan something so distasteful. She could not discuss so intimate a matter even with O-Natsu, who perhaps might have guessed, and certainly not with Sunao, who would be shocked and also disapproving of her departure from propriety. She puzzled over the problem for several days, knowing that the time to act was limited. The sense of urgency informed her days

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as she hurried through her normal tasks. Fortunately she was able to eat enough so that her father did not notice anything amiss. Her mother might have taken note.

Two days later, in the afternoon, when Rie was in the kitchen talking to O-Yuki, a maid who worked under O-Natsu, shouting erupted from the area of the storeroom.

“Kaji! Kaji! Fire! Fire!”

Smoke billowed along the corridor toward the inner office and main rooms of the house. Her father, Kin, Jihei, O-Natsu, everyone seemed to be running in all directions. Rie covered her face with her sleeve. Through the smoke she glimpsed O-Natsu and several clerks scurrying through the corridor carrying buckets of water.

“O-Natsu!” she shouted. “Where’s the fire?”

“The storeroom and number one kura,” O-Natsu gasped.

Rie ran into the courtyard and grabbed a bucket from one of the maids. In the compound a line of clerks pushed hoses along toward the kura. Kin and Kinnosuke were working buckets at the well. Her father, Jihei, and Toji were directing the work, all shouting at once.

Rie looked up in horror as orange tongues licked above the number one kura and storeroom, dangerously close to the inner office. Kin ran back to move ledgers to the outer office, and Rie ran after him to help. Black smoke belching from the brewery billowed over the neighborhood, and neighbors came running to join the sweating, smoke-blackened firefighters. Rie’s coughing mixed with sobs as she saw flames leap from the storeroom toward the inner office. She and Kin worked frantically to move all the records to safety.

The smoke and flames drew the city’s two competing guilds of firefighters, who converged on the scene simultaneously with their carts and clanging bells. Bannermen from each guild slammed their ladders against the kura wall and clambered to

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the roof. The man who reached the rooftop first held his banner high with a shout of triumph signaling his men to go into action against the flames.

For the rest of the day the men battled the raging furnace until flames began to subside, to spit and hiss.

Rie ran to the kitchen. “O-Natsu, quickly. We need to prepare food for the men, at least forty of them.” O-Natsu, O-Yuki, and two other maids rapidly chopped vegetables, prepared miso and rice, then brought out the best pickles and barrels of White Tiger.

The exhausted, blackened men sat in groups in the still standing number three kura, eating the hastily prepared meal and drinking sake.

Rie watched her father go around the groups of men and thank them for saving the brewery. Would it be his last official act as head of the house, she wondered? She felt a deep sadness overtake her.

All that remained of the number one kura, storeroom, and inner office were charred, hissing coals and ash. Men coughed under the acrid smoke that draped a shroud over the buildings and still rose in the darkened sky.

Spent and speechless, Rie put a hand on her father’s arm. She didn’t know how she had the strength to fight the tears that threatened.

“We’re all exhausted, Ri-chan,” he said, returning the pressure of her hand. “We’ll talk tomorrow about what we need to do. Now we all need sleep.”

Rie caught Yoshitaro in the hall chattering excitedly with the nursery maid, describing the spectacle. This was his future—
their
future—and so much had been destroyed.

Ashes smoldered through the night. Later, as she lay on her futon, unable to sleep, she knew it would be days, weeks, before the smell of smoke left the house. The damage was something

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they would be paying for for months, more than a year. And how had the fire started?

Fire was a serious hazard. Everyone knew that arson was pun-ishable by death. At night fire watchers walked the streets of the town clacking their wooden sticks together to warn people to be careful, to put out stoves and lamps before they slept. Rie had enjoyed the hollow sound of wood striking wood as she prepared for the night at the hour of the boar. But the sound that meant all was well in the neighborhood would now take on a terrifying meaning for her and everyone in the house.

No one could have started the fire deliberately. The cause would have to be unearthed. Large barrels filled with water were kept atop the kura roofs, a precaution Rie’s grandfather had introduced, one generally employed only by temples. Rie tried to put these thoughts from her mind as she tossed on her futon. She touched her abdomen, remembering how precious it had become. Then she saw Jihei enter the room and nestle into his futon, one of the rare times he had stayed home.