The Samurai's Daughter (16 page)

Nobu looked them up and down appraisingly. Bathhouse girls were relatively inexpensive, certainly as compared with the proud ladies of the Yoshiwara. Some were scrubbing the backs of customers, some waving large fans, sending gusts of cooling air around the room. There’d be yet others in the bath, scrubbing backs and shampooing. He smiled to himself. A good soak – that would make him feel better.

He had started undoing his obi when there was a snort of laughter.

‘Quite the jester, what, General Yoshida!’ roared Mori. ‘Where d’ya think you’re off to? You gotta stay here and watch my clothes. Here, help me off with my obi and make sure you fold it carefully.’ Flushing with shame, Nobu tried to ignore the other customers’ sniggers as he helped Mori strip off. ‘You can rinse out my loincloth while you’re waiting. Get it good and clean and make sure you slap all the wrinkles out of it before you hang it up to dry. And none of your heroics while I’m away, mind,’ were Mori’s parting shots as he set off down the stairs towards the bath.

So there’d be no bath for him that day, Nobu thought gloomily as he picked up Mori’s soiled loincloth and looked around for the underwear bucket. Squatting beside the bucket, squeezing out the noxious garment, he closed his ears to the hubbub around him and the image of the woman he had seen in the distance came back to him.

Then he realized who she’d reminded him of: Okatsu, Taka’s merry, plump-faced maid. But of course it couldn’t have been her. What would Okatsu have been doing here, in Mori’s run-down neighbourhood? The Kitaoka residence was on the other side of the city. He must have thought of her because
he’d
seen Eijiro the previous day. The Kitaokas were on his mind.

Outside, pedlars hawked their wares. ‘Dumplings, sweet dumplings,’ sang one.

‘Tofu, tofu!’ cried another.

‘Grilled eel, best eel, freshly grilled, brushed with Kandagawa restaurant’s special sauce, following their secret recipe, passed down for generations …’ Nobu sniffed the succulent smell of grilling eel and remembered how hungry he was.

Much later Mori reappeared, red and glowing like a boiled octopus, steam rising from his head in little puffs. He lounged in the changing room for a while, languidly smoking pipe after pipe of tobacco and bantering with the other customers. The shadows were lengthening by the time he was ready to leave.

Nobu helped him dress and followed him along the street back to the house, trying not to think about how unwashed and sticky he felt. He was startled to see Shige, Mori’s mistress, at the door. She was a large, good-natured woman with big teeth, who wafted around in a cloud of face powder and hair oil.

‘There you are, young Nobu,’ she said, nodding excitedly. ‘You’ll never guess what happened. You had a visitor! A grand lady, a maid from one of those big government houses. She waited for a while but you didn’t come back and now she’s gone.’

Nobu stared at her. Who on earth could have come to see him? Surely it couldn’t have been Okatsu, with a message from Taka? No good putting a price on your badger skin before you’ve caught your badger, he told himself sternly.

‘I nearly forgot,’ said Shige. ‘She left something for you.’

She smiled and her teeth, polished to a dull black, turned her mouth into a dark chasm as she held out a small packet. It was a letter, not rolled into a scroll but folded and sealed. Nobu took it in both hands and raised it to his forehead as if it was a precious gift. His name was written on it. His heart missed a beat as he recognized the brushstrokes. It was from Taka. Trying not to show his excitement, he tucked it into his sleeve.

Mori scowled and opened his mouth. Shige swung round.
‘Now
you stop bullying him,’ she snapped. He shut it again. ‘Young Nobu, you can have the rest of the day off. Go and read your note. I’d get back to the bathhouse if I were you.’ She pressed some coins into his hand.

Nobu sauntered outside as slowly as he could and found a quiet corner under a tree, where Bunkichi and Zenkichi would not be able to find him. He took the letter from his sleeve, broke the seal and unfolded it. He read the words slowly, letting his eyes linger on the familiar handwriting, the way the ink flowed from stroke to stroke, broad then tapering to a point, like blades of grass.

Nobu-
sama
. I was glad to have news of you from my older brother Eijiro. I trust that you are keeping well in this hot weather. I often think of you and wonder how you are and what you are doing. It must be two years now since you left our house. It was just at Tanabata, was it not? And now Tanabata has come round again. We must pray for fine weather. Taka.

He smiled. How thoughtful of her to use such a respectful form of address – -
sama
– for him who, as far as she knew, was nothing but a servant. He too would pray for fine weather so that the magpies could form their bridge and the weaver princess and the cowherd could cross the River of Heaven and meet each other that night.

He thought of Taka with her brushes neatly rolled in a bamboo mat and remembered kneeling beside her as she patiently tried to teach him to make his brushstrokes beautiful, like hers. He thought of the sweet scent of her hair, the feel of her small cool fingers wrapped around his as she directed his brush, raising then lowering, helping him form the characters. She had been a stern teacher, not satisfied until every stroke was perfect.

Then had come the dreadful day when Eijiro had stormed in and found them together, writing Tanabata wishes. He remembered his own foolish wish – to stay at the Kitaoka house, near
Taka
, for ever. Even now the memory made him shudder. That had been the final straw that had given Eijiro the excuse he was waiting for to throw him out. Yet what he had written was true. Even though they were the family of General Kitaoka, even though Eijiro treated him like a dog, he’d been happy. He really could have stayed with them for ever.

He heaved a sigh. Taka was right. It was almost two years since then, though it felt more like a lifetime. And now, as she said, Tanabata had come round again.

He read the letter once more, folded it and put it in his sleeve. It was touching that Taka had thought of him and bothered to write to him, especially now when, as Eijiro had told him, she’d made this advantageous match. He remembered that the one thing she hadn’t wanted was to get married. Her mother must have insisted. He was surprised that Taka had managed to stay unwed for so long.

He picked up his towel and set off for the bathhouse.

Then it struck him. Supposing it wasn’t just a kind note? Supposing it was a message? Taka would be going to Sengaku Temple, the temple near her house, to tie her wishes on to a bamboo branch, as she did every year. Perhaps, like the weaver princess and the cowherd, this was their one chance to meet? Perhaps that was what she was telling him.

He told himself not to be foolish. But the idea had entered his mind and he couldn’t shake himself free of it. He remembered Taka had said she always went to the temple in the late afternoon when the heat of the day had passed.

He should be careful not to be impetuous, he told himself. It got him into trouble every time. He should just go and relax with the bathhouse girls. She wouldn’t even be there. But it was too late. He had to find out.

He turned and headed off through the streets. It was a long walk, he knew. Then he saw a rickshaw and hailed it. He would spend the precious money Shige had given him on getting to Sengaku Temple as quickly as possible.

11

LATE IN THE
afternoon, when the heat of the day had died down, Taka and Okatsu slipped past the gnarled old guards who stood on each side of the huge gates of the Kitaoka residence and hurried off down the lane. In their blue and white cotton yukatas and thonged wooden-soled geta clogs, whisking their fans and holding parasols over their heads, they could almost have been sisters.

It was only after wheedling and begging and lengthy arguments that Taka had persuaded Fujino to let them go out at all. She had pleaded that Tanabata only came once a year and sworn that they would go to Sengaku Temple, nowhere else. Now she pattered between the high walls that lined the lane, thrilled at the unaccustomed sense of freedom. Almost anything seemed possible. As they reached the Eastern Sea Road, a salty breeze blew up. Seagulls swooped and screamed and, between the bobbing heads and vivid streamers and banners of smoke that rose from little stalls along the road, she caught a glimpse of the sea. Fishing boats bobbed and masts rocked on the horizon.

She wanted so badly to know what had transpired when Okatsu had gone out with her precious note that she had had to struggle not to ask her the moment her maid got back to the house. Taka hadn’t dared say a single word there. She’d had the feeling there were listeners everywhere – in the walls, under the tatami, behind the paper screens, in the closets where the futons were stacked, in the creaky wooden chests with their
rusty
hasps, full of mouldering treasures, in the airless corners behind the staircase – secret listeners waiting to report back to her mother and Eijiro.

She knew that to send a note to a young man, let alone hint at a meeting, was unacceptable at any time. Fujino might once have overlooked it – after all, she herself had led a very unconventional life. But now Taka was to be married and would soon become the property of another family, who would certainly not take such an offence lightly. Okatsu, who was supposed to watch over her, would be severely punished if they were caught. She might be beaten, maybe dismissed. Taka glanced at her as she pattered cheerfully beside her. Okatsu was beaming with excitement. She knew she was taking a risk but that only made it more of an adventure.

‘Did you see him, Okatsu?’ Taka clasped her hands together and glanced around as if afraid someone might overhear her.

‘No, but I met Mori-
sama
’s mistress,’ said Okatsu, smiling serenely. ‘She seemed kind.’

‘You went to the house?’ Taka gasped. ‘I trusted you to be discreet! What sort of house is it? What sort of area? What’s she like?’

Okatsu put her hand over her mouth and laughed merrily at the barrage of questions. ‘Nice enough. An ordinary sort of person, not high class. She gave me tea and said Nobu was a very serious boy. I waited a while but he didn’t come back. Gone to the public bath or something. In the end I left the note with her.’

‘So you think she really gave it to him?’ Taka asked doubtfully. ‘And even if she did, do you think he understood? I was so careful in case someone else read it. Too careful, perhaps.’

‘Best not to price your badger skin …’

‘Until you’ve caught your badger.’ Taka smiled, remembering how Nobu used to frown when he quoted the old proverb. ‘Today is wish-granting day, don’t forget that. Perhaps the gods will grant mine.’

Here at Shinagawa the Eastern Sea Road swung along Edo Bay
in
a half-moon curve. The broad promenade was hung with huge colourful woven balls and lanterns with paper tails that swung and swirled in the breeze, brilliant as the threads on the weaver princess’s loom. People crowded beneath the decorations, dancing and singing and shouting.

Higgledy-piggledy along the water’s edge were stalls piled with amulets, purses, paper dolls and strings of origami cranes. Longhaired men with black-painted eyes thrust flasks of toad oil – ‘guaranteed to heal every ailment’ – at passers-by. There were jugglers, comic dancers and hawkers offering boat rides round the bay, and mouth-watering smells issued from stalls where men with scarves knotted rakishly around their heads grilled octopus and squid.

In front of them the great highway turned inland past mansions and temples and streets clogged with tiny houses, heading for Japan Bridge, with its famous fish market, right in the noisy heart of Tokyo. Behind them it wound along the coast and through the mountains, past villages of thatched houses and hills carved into stepped paddy fields, all the way to Kyoto, many days’ walk away, where Taka had grown up. She thought of their dark house there with its steep wooden stairs and tiny tatami-matted rooms, and how she used to hang over the balcony in the evenings, watching geishas and maikos clip-clop by, their long sleeves swaying as they walked, and felt an unexpected yearning for those distant childhood days, when her father had been around and life had been simpler.

By the time they got to Sengaku Temple it was almost dusk. They joined the crowds pushing through the shabby outer gate and along the path to the massive two-storeyed main gate with its steep tiled roofs and fierce bronze dragon coiling across the ceiling, then made their way past the great temple building and through the venerable graveyard surrounded by towering cryptomeria trees to the bamboo grove, tucked in a distant corner.

That morning Okatsu had collected dew from the big taro leaves in the garden and Taka had used it to grind ink. She’d
written
the usual wishes on strips of paper – for her family’s health, happiness and prosperity, for her father to come home, for success in her schoolwork – and added an extra secret one. She’d screwed up her eyes and whispered a prayer before she’d brushed it, hoping that if she concentrated hard enough she might make it happen: ‘You gods who know the secrets of my heart, protect me from this marriage.’ Then she’d folded the paper quickly before anyone could see it.

The bamboo boughs were heavy with coloured strips of paper, paper dolls, purses and chains. Taka pulled down an empty branch, murmuring a prayer as she tied her wishes on to it. When she released it, it sprang back up, decorations flapping madly like blossoms about to fall.

People were dancing slowly and hypnotically, singing the Tanabata song:

‘I’m glad it’s fine tonight,’ Taka said, smiling at Okatsu, who was tying her own wishes in place. ‘The magpies will have built their bridge.’