The Samurai's Daughter (36 page)

Taka laughed. He was far from a rough soldier. At another time she might have complained he was excessively familiar but not tonight. His friends were drinking, forgetting their cares in the arms of the Kagoshima geishas. He deserved a little kindness too.

She knew she should walk on but she was enjoying the forbidden pleasure of being alone with a man – not just any man but this man she’d admired when she was a child. She remembered that her father had said she should look for a husband among his samurai, and her mother too had spoken of the Imperial Guard. Perhaps she’d do better to forget about marriage and follow her heart, as her mother had done.

She wanted to stretch out the moment a little longer. ‘You’ve served with my father for many years.’

‘Since I was a boy. I grew up not far from here. My parents lived near your father, we were neighbours. I learned to fight at his side and went with him to Kyoto.’

‘You must have known my brother,’ Taka said softly. By the looks of him he was about the same age as Ryutaro would have been if he’d lived.

‘Ryutaro was my best friend. We sparred together when we were boys, after he moved down here to live with your father. He was fearless, he’d always put himself in danger to help out a comrade, but he was modest too. The perfect samurai. We were fighting side by side when he was killed, at the battle of Toba Fushimi. I’ll never forget that day.’ He heaved a sigh.

The moon had risen, flooding the dark street and the small red-painted shrine with its two stone foxes with light. Taka could see the guard’s breath, like smoke in the cold air.

‘Life is strange,’ he said. ‘You never know where it will take you. When I left Kagoshima I thought I’d never come back and here I am again. My life has come full circle. And now here you are in Kagoshima too.’

He fell silent. She felt a tremor run through her. He had extraordinary eyes, pale and piercing. Then he reached out and, to her shock, snatched up her hand. She felt the touch of his fingers on hers as he held it for a moment then raised it and pressed it to his lips.

He dropped it as abruptly and rubbed his hand across his forehead. ‘I never expected to be with you of all people, tonight of all nights,’ he murmured.

In the streets around them the lights were going out, the music dying down and the crowds beginning to disperse as the geishas walked off into the night with their lovers. There was excitement in the air.

The guard ran his fingers across her cheek. ‘I don’t even know your name.’

‘Taka,’ she said, so softly he had to bend his head to hear.

‘Otaka-
sama
,’ he murmured, using the polite form. ‘Do you remember mine?’

‘Kuninosuké-
sama
.’ She felt as if she was in a trance. It was a long time since she’d been so close to a man. She could smell his sweat, feel his breath hot on her face.

He took her hand in both of his. ‘I’m a humble soldier. I know I could never be worthy of you, but when I’m in the mountains I wish I could believe you might think of me from time to time.’

Taka looked at him, trembling. He was leaving the next day and they would probably never meet again. Whatever happened tonight would leave no trace, no karmic trail. There was only the present.

His hand was on her shoulder. She knew she should resist but she had lost all will. She let him pull her towards him. Then she was in his arms, her face smothered against his jacket. She felt the
hard
muscles of his chest and the pounding of his heart through the thick cotton.

‘Otaka-
sama
. You’re like a bird,’ he whispered.

He pressed his mouth to her head and ears and face. Her knees were quivering. She felt his fingers run through her hair and find the tender skin at the back of her neck, stroking and soothing as if she really was a little bird. She leaned against him and felt her body fit into the curves of his. Cocooned in his arms, she felt herself coming alive again.

She felt a pang of sadness and anger. It should be Nobu, she thought, Nobu she should be pressing close to, not this man, not Kuninosuké. For a moment she wondered where he was and what he was doing and yearned for that slim body and soft voice. He was never coming back, she told herself. She would never see him again, she might as well accept that. It was a lost cause. In any case she was not betraying him, not doing anything wrong. Kuninosuké was leaving the next day, going to an unknown future, maybe to his death. It was only right that she should leave him with good memories to look back on, send him on his way with kindness.

She drew back slowly from Kuninosuké’s enfolding arms and looked up at him and smiled. ‘I will think of you,’ she said. ‘I’ll pray for your safety.’

‘I’ll never forget this face,’ he whispered. ‘I’ll carry it in my mind as long as I live.’

Across the road the lights were going off in the house where her geisha friend Toshimi was entertaining.

‘I’ll go now,’ Taka whispered.

She crossed the road. When she stopped and looked round, Kuninosuké was watching her, a tall figure, silhouetted against the darkness.

28

THE NEXT MORNING
she woke with a start. There was something she had to do, something urgent. It was well before cock crow still, but there was an unearthly light filtering between the wooden rain doors and paper screens. Muffled footsteps padded by, soft as a cat’s.

She pushed back the musty bedding, slid open a shutter, and looked out. Snow – falling in huge flakes, crusting the roofs and eaves and windowsills of the houses across the way, more snow than she’d ever imagined possible in this southern tropical city. The lanterns outside the geisha houses had long since been extinguished but the snow made everything bright. It lifted her spirits too. Perhaps her father wouldn’t leave that day after all.

She had spent the night in one of the unused upstairs rooms so as not to disturb her parents. Shivering, she examined the miserable furnishings – a dusty trunk, a tall cabinet that contained her mother’s precious kimonos, neatly folded and wrapped in tissue paper, a vase of dried branches and a frayed painting in the alcove. She peeked inside the wall cupboards where the bedding was stored, opened the tiny drawers in the ornamental shelves in the alcove and heaved up the lid of the trunk.

She pulled out dolls, ceramics, incense containers and tea-ceremony ware, all neatly labelled in boxes, which they’d shipped from the house in Tokyo and would probably never look at again. Tucked underneath were some plain winter kimonos of thick cotton.
She
took out a couple and bundled herself up in them as quickly as she could, pulling them on over the gown she’d slept in and tying a sash around each to keep it in place. There was no time to dress as carefully as she normally would. She smoothed her hair back, knotted it into a coil and tiptoed down the polished stairs, stepping lightly so they wouldn’t creak.

The wooden floor of the vestibule was icy cold under her feet. She fumbled around in the darkness and ran her hand across the sandals and clogs in the shoe cupboard. Her father’s huge straw sandals had gone. She sat back on her heels with a dreadful sense of emptiness and swallowed a sob. She’d just been reunited with him, only to lose him again. Everything was coming to an end and she hadn’t even had a chance to say goodbye.

She took a thick jacket and an oiled paper umbrella, slipped her feet into geta clogs and stepped outside into the luminous white landscape. The snow was criss-crossed with the slatted prints of clogs and the woven markings of straw sandals. Usually at this hour geishas would be going to bed after a long night but today women who never saw the dawn were already out, heading for the castle. They hurried along, bundled in kimonos with straw capes tied over the top like farmers, bobbing like moving haystacks.

Taka tried to keep close to the buildings where the drifts were shallower but even there her feet sank into the snow with every step. The long straight street with its dark wooden houses seemed endless. She was panting hard by the time she reached the turn that marked the end of the geisha quarter. She hurried through the merchants’ section of the city, past lumberyards and storehouses and the high walls of rice warehouses, skirting men brushing snow into mounds, sweeping again as more fell. At least the streets were clearer here. People huddled around braziers, warming their hands over the glowing charcoal. The sky was lightening, turning an ominous shade of mauve, like a bruise, and as the clouds lifted Taka glimpsed the volcano behind the warehouses, magically white, a ribbon of ash streaming like a banner from the crater.

Slipping and sliding, trying not to lose her footing, she reached the
samurai
district with its broad avenues lined with stone or stucco walls and hurried past the city granary and the governor’s offices. Not far off voices shouted, drums throbbed and shamisens played. Ahead of her a mass of people, more than she’d ever seen, spilled out of the parade ground, filling the streets, balancing on walls and stones and gateposts. Every stone of the massive granite walls and battlements of the castle behind them was etched in white, and behind that Shiroyama – Castle Mount – rose like a cliff, shrouded in a snow-covered tangle of foliage.

Taka searched for a gap in the mob and tried to worm her way in. People were pressed so tight she was swept along in the throng, driven one way, then another. She fought her way deeper, watching out for her unprotected feet in their thonged geta clogs among the leather boots and heavy straw sandals. All she could see was huge backs covered with padded jackets or straw capes.

For the space of a breath the bodies parted and she caught a glimpse of the parade ground. It was full of men milling about, most in dark blue jackets and striped hakama trousers, like a uniform, with white headbands and swords tucked into their sashes. Many carried rifles too. Some wore white armbands and some were in military uniform, like soldiers of the Imperial Army.

In the middle of them, surrounded by troops, was her father. While most of his men were in traditional samurai garb, he was splendidly dressed in his general’s uniform, black with gold braiding and buttons and a red sash, his gold sword at his side. Taka’s heart burst with pride, mingled with dreadful sadness. She knew that uniform so well. He’d worn it for ceremonial events in Tokyo, when he was field marshal of the Imperial Army and leader of the government.

She pushed forward, trying to reach him before she lost sight of him again. Towering above his troops, he strode with his dogs at his heels, stopping and speaking to each man in turn, smiling and joking, exchanging words here and there. He seemed to know all their names and he had encouraging words for each. The men laughed or nodded seriously as he spoke to them and each held his
head
higher after he’d gone. Among his men the general looked entirely at home, more himself than she’d ever seen him.

Then she noticed the young samurai walking beside him. He was swarthy as if he was of southern stock, with a clean-cut, rather noble face. Taka stared at him. She’d heard General Kitaoka had had a son by his wife, a son he’d publicly recognized and acknowledged as his heir. Perhaps this was him. Seeing him made her wonder how her father would receive her, whether he’d be pleased or embarrassed to have the offspring of a geisha greeting him in front of his troops.

There were heavyset men close by, keeping a watchful eye on the crowd. Taka wondered if these were her father’s guards and if Kuninosuké was among them. She was hoping she might see him. They’d both let themselves get a bit carried away the previous night and behaved in unseemly ways. She’d thought about it afterwards, wondered whether she’d betrayed Nobu or misled Kuninosuké, whether she’d done anything to shame her family, and decided, no, it was just an innocent hug, offering support to their brave men, saying farewell to a soldier going to the front. After all, it had been his last night in the city. All the same, it had created a bond between them. It wouldn’t do any harm to exchange a few words. And she was curious to see his face in daylight, this shadowy figure who’d held her so close.

Bugles blared and the men stepped back to clear a space for the general, her father. He stood, legs apart, his great chest pushed out, hands clasped behind his back, huge and solid like a mountain. Every eye was fixed on him.

‘It’s snowing.’ His voice boomed out, echoing off the buildings that surrounded the square. There was silence as if the men had been expecting something more momentous, followed by a roar of laughter that shook the air. He waited for the laughter to stop. His face was serious.

‘It snowed on the day the forty-seven ronin carried out their vendetta, and it’s snowing today too. It’s a sign that our hearts are pure and our cause is just. The gods are on our side.’

Listening, Taka remembered Nobu telling her the story of the
forty-seven
lordless samurai and how they’d waited years until the time was ripe to carry out their bloody revenge. She could almost hear his young voice and see his large earnest eyes as he spoke. He was still there in her heart, she realized, no matter what had happened with Kuninosuké. They belonged to each other.

There had been a snowstorm on the day of the ronins’ vendetta too, as if the gods had wanted to mark the purity of the loyal warriors’ deed by cloaking the city in white. Everyone knew the story and the symbolism and how, having done their duty, they’d been sentenced to die by ritual suicide and had gone to their deaths as to a lover’s embrace.

In the silence horses snorted and pawed the ground. Snow lay in a thick layer, its unearthly glow reflected in every face. Taka looked around. Many of the men were as young as she, some younger, all gazing at their leader with eyes afire, impatient to set off, as ready to fight and die as the ronin had been. She shuddered, wondering if she would ever see any of them again.

‘Today we march for Tokyo.’ The general was speaking again. ‘Unscrupulous men have taken over the government of our country and we must wrest it from their hands. We will confront these traitors, ask why they send assassins to attack us and destroy our way of life. We will demand the restoration of the pure ways of old. And if our demands are not met we will fight in the name of the emperor.’