Shogun (102 page)

Put away sadness. Give pleasure, that is your duty.

Her fingers strummed a second chord, a chord filled with melancholy. Then she noticed that though Mariko was beguiled by her music the Anjin-san was not.

Why? Kiku knew that it was not her playing, for she was sure that it was almost perfect. Such mastery as hers was given to few.

A third, more beautiful chord, experimentally. There’s no doubt, she told herself hastily, it doesn’t please him. She allowed the chord to die away and began to sing unaccompanied, her voice soaring with the sudden changes of tempo that took years to perfect. Again Mariko was entranced, he was not, so at once Kiku stopped. “Tonight is not for music or singing,” she announced. “Tonight is for happiness. Mariko-san, how do I say, ‘please excuse me’ in his language?”

“
Per favor
.”

“
Per favor
, Anjin-san, tonight we must laugh only,
neh?”

“
Domo
, Kiku-san.
Hai.”

“It’s difficult to entertain without words, but not impossible,
neh?
Ah, I know!” She jumped up and began to do comic pantomimes—
daimyo
, kaga-man, fisherman, hawker, pompous samurai, even an old farmer collecting a full pail—and she did them all so well and so humorously that soon Mariko and Blackthorne were laughing and clapping. Then she held up her hand. Mischievously she began to mimic a man peeing, holding himself or missing, grabbing, searching
for the insignificant or weighed down by the incredible, through all the stages of his life, beginning first as a child just wetting the bed and howling, to a young man in a hurry, to another having to hold back, another with size, another with smallness to the point of “where has it gone,” and at length to a very old man groaning in ecstasy at being able to pee at all.

Kiku bowed to their applause and sipped cha, patting the sheen from her forehead. She noticed that he was easing his shoulders and back. “Oh,
per favor, senhor!”
and she knelt behind him and began to massage his neck.

Her knowing fingers instantly found the pleasure points. “Oh God, that’s…
hai
… just there!”

She did as he asked. “Your neck will be better soon. Too much sitting, Anjin-san!”

“That very good, Kiku-san. Make Suwo almost bad!”

“Ah, thank you. Mariko-san, the Anjin-san’s shoulders are so vast, would you help me? Just do his left shoulder while I do his right? So sorry, but hands are not strong enough.”

Mariko allowed herself to be persuaded and did as she was asked. Kiku hid her smile as she felt him tighten under Mariko’s fingers and she was very pleased with her improvisations. Now the client was being pleasured through her artistry and knowledge, and being maneuvered as he should be maneuvered.

“Is that better, Anjin-san?”

“Good, very good, thank you.”

“Oh, you’re very welcome. It’s my pleasure. But the Lady Toda is so much more deft than I.” Kiku could feel the attraction between them though they tried to conceal it. “Now a little food perhaps?” It came at once.

“For you, Anjin-san,” she said proudly. The dish contained a small pheasant, cut into tiny pieces, barbecued over charcoal with a sweet soya sauce. She helped him.

“It delicious, delicious,” he said. And it was.

“Mariko-san?”

“Thank you.” Mariko took a token piece but did not eat it.

Kiku took a fragment in her chopsticks and chewed it with relish. “It’s good,
neh?”

“No, Kiku-san, it very good! Very good.”

“Please, Anjin-san, have some more.” She took a second morsel. “There’s plenty.”

“Thank you. Please. How did—how this?” He pointed to the thick brown sauce.

Mariko interpreted for her. “Kiku says it’s sugar and soya with a little ginger. She asks do you have sugar and soya in your country?”

“Sugar in beet, yes, soya no, Kiku-san.”

“Oh! How can one live without soya?” Kiku became solemn. “Please tell the Anjin-san that we have had sugar here since one thousand years. The Buddhist monk Ganjin brought it to us from China. All our best things have come from China, Anjin-san. Cha came to us about five hundred years ago. The Buddhist monk Eisai brought some seeds and planted them in Chikuzen Province, where I was born. He also brought us Zen Buddhism.”

Mariko translated with equal formality, then Kiku let out a peal of laughter. “Oh so sorry, Mariko-sama, but you both looked so grave. I was just pretending to be solemn about cha—as if it mattered! It was only to amuse you.”

They watched Blackthorne finish the pheasant. “Good,” he said. “Very good. Please thank Gyoko-san.”

“She will be honored.” Kiku poured more saké for both of them. Then, knowing it was time, she said innocently, “May I ask what happened today at the earthquake? I hear the Anjin-san saved the life of Lord Toranaga? I would consider it an honor to know firsthand.”

She settled back patiently, letting Blackthorne and Mariko enjoy the telling, adding an “oh,” or “what happened then?” or pouring saké never interrupting, being the perfect listener.

And, when they finished, Kiku marveled at their bravery and at Lord Toranaga’s good fortune. They talked for a while, then Blackthorne got up and the maid was told to show him the way.

Mariko broke a silence. “You’ve never eaten meat before, Kiku-san, have you?”

“It is my duty to do whatever I can to please him, for just a little while,
neh?”

“I never knew how perfect a lady could be. I understand now why there must always be a Floating World, a Willow World, and how lucky men are, how inadequate I am.”

“Oh, that was never my purpose, never, Mariko-sama. And not our purpose. We are here only to please, for a fleeting moment.”

“Yes. I just meant I admire you so much. I would like you for my sister.”

Kiku bowed. “I would not be worthy of that honor.” There was warmth between them. Then she said, “This is a very secret place and everyone is to be trusted, there are no prying eyes. The pleasure room in the garden is very dark if one wants it dark. And darkness keeps all secrets.”

“The only way to keep a secret is to be alone and whisper it down an empty well at high noon,
neh?”
Mariko said lightly, needing time to decide.

“Between sisters there’s no need for wells. I have dismissed my maid until the dawn. Our pleasure room is a very private place.”

“There you must be alone with him.”

“I can always be alone, always.”

“You’re so kind to me, Kiku-chan, so very thoughtful.”

“It is a magic night,
neh?
And very special.”

“Magic nights end too soon, Little Sister. Magic nights are for children,
neh?
I am not a child.”

“Who knows what happens on a magic night? Darkness contains everything.”

Mariko shook her head sadly and touched her tenderly. “Yes. But for him, if it contained you that would be everything.”

Kiku let the matter rest. Then she said, “I am a gift to the Anjin-san? He did not ask for me himself?”

“If he had seen you, how could he not ask for you? Truthfully, it’s his honor that you welcome him. I understand that now.”

“But he did see me once, Mariko-san. I was with Omi-san when he passed on his way to the ship to go to Osaka the first time.”

“Oh, but the Anjin-san said that he saw Midori-san with Omi-san. It was you? Beside the palanquin?”

“Yes, in the square. Oh yes, it was me, Mariko-san, not the Lady, the wife of Omi-sama. He said
‘konnichi wa’
to me. But of course, he would not remember. How could he remember? That was during a previous life,
neh?”

“Oh, he remembered her—the beautiful girl with the green parasol. He said the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. He told me about her many times.” Mariko studied her even more closely. “Yes, Kiku-san, you could easily be mistaken for her on such a day, under a parasol.”

Kiku poured saké and Mariko was entranced by her unconscious elegance. “My parasol was sea green,” she said, very pleased that he had remembered.

“How did the Anjin-san look then? Very different? The Night of the Screams must have been terrible.”

“Yes, yes it was. And he was older then, the skin of his face stretched…. But we become too serious, Elder Sister. Ah, you don’t know how honored I am to be allowed to call you that. Tonight is a night of pleasure only. No more seriousness,
neh?”

“Yes. I agree. Please forgive me.”

“Now, to more practical matters, would you please give me some advice?”

“Anything,” Mariko said, as friendly.

“In this matter of the pillow, do people of his nation prefer any instruments or positions that you are aware of? So sorry to ask, but perhaps you might be able to guide me.”

It took all of Mariko’s training to remain unabashed. “No, not that I know. The Anjin-san is very sensitive about anything to do with pillowing.”

“Could he be asked in an oblique way?”

“I don’t think you can ask a foreign person like that. Certainly not the Anjin-san. And—so sorry, I don’t know what the, er, instruments are—except, of course, a
harigata.”

“Ah!” Again Kiku’s intuition guided her and she asked artlessly, “Would you care to see them? I could show them all to you, perhaps with him there, then he need not be asked. We can see from his reaction.”

Mariko hesitated, her own curiosity swamping her judgment. “If it could be done with humor …”

They heard Blackthorne approaching. Kiku welcomed him back and poured wine. Mariko quaffed hers, glad that she was no longer alone, uneasily sure that Kiku could read her thoughts.

They chatted and played silly games and then, when Kiku judged that the time was correct, she asked them if they would like to see the garden and the pleasure rooms.

They walked out into the night. The garden sparkled in the torchlights where the raindrops still lingered. The path meandered beside a tiny pool and gurgling waterfall. At the end of the path was the small isolated house in the center of the bamboo grove. It was raised off manicured ground and had four steps up to the encircling veranda. Everything about the two-roomed dwelling was tasteful and expensive. The best woods, best carpentry, best tatami, best silk cushions, most elegant hangings in the
takonama.

“It’s so lovely, Kiku-san,” Mariko said.

“The Tea House in Mishima is much nicer, Mariko-san. Please be comfortable, Anjin-san!
Per favor
, does this please you, Anjin-san?”

“Yes, very much.”

Kiku saw that he was still bemused with the night and the saké but totally conscious of Mariko. She was very tempted to get up and go into the inner room where the futons were turned back and step out onto the veranda again and leave. But if she did, she knew that she would be in violation of the law. More than that, she felt that such an action would be irresponsible, for she knew in her heart Mariko was ready and almost beyond caring.

No, she thought, I mustn’t push her into such a tragic indiscretion, much as it might be valuable to my future. I offered but Mariko-san willed herself to refuse. Wisely. Are they lovers? I do not know. That is their
karma.

She leaned forward and laughed conspiratorially. “Listen, Elder Sister, please tell the Anjin-san that there are some pillow instruments here. Does he have them in his country?”

“He says, no, Kiku-san. So sorry, he’s never heard of any.”

“Oh! Would it amuse him to see them? They’re in the next room, I can fetch them—they’re really very exciting.”

“Would you like to see them, Anjin-san? She says they’re really very funny.” Mariko deliberately changed the word.

“Why not,” Blackthorne said, his throat constricted, his whole being charged with an awareness of their perfume and their femininity. “You—you use instruments to pillow with?” he asked.

“Kiku-san says sometimes, Anjin-san. She says—and this is true—it’s our custom always to try to prolong the moment of the ‘Clouds and the Rain’ because we believe for that brief instant we mortals are one with the gods.” Mariko watched him. “So it’s very important to make it last as long as possible,
neh?
Almost a duty,
neh?”

“Yes.”

“Yes. She says to be one with the gods is very essential. It’s a good belief and very possible, don’t you think, to believe that? The Cloudburst feeling is so unearthly and godlike. Isn’t it? So any means to stay one with the gods for as long as possible is our duty,
neh?”

“Very. Oh, yes.”

“Would you like saké, Anjin-san?”

“Thank you.”

She fanned herself. “This about the Cloudburst and the Clouds and the Rain or the Fire and the Torrent, as we sometimes call it, is very
Japanese, Anjin-san. Very important to be Japanese in pillow things,
neh?”

To her relief, he grinned and bowed to her like a courtier. “Yes. Very. I’m Japanese, Mariko-san.
Honto!”

Kiku returned with the silk-lined case. She opened it and took out a substantial life-size penis made of ivory, and another made of softer material, elastic, that Blackthorne had never seen before. Carelessly she set them aside.

“These of course, are ordinary
harigata
, Anjin-san,” Mariko said unconcernedly, her eyes glued on the other objects.

“Is that a fact?” Blackthorne said, not knowing what else to say. “Mother of God!”

“But it’s just an ordinary
harigata
, Anjin-san. Surely your women have them!”

“Certainly not! No, they don’t,” he added, trying to remember about the humor.

Mariko couldn’t believe it. She explained to Kiku, who was equally surprised. Kiku spoke at length, Mariko agreeing.

“Kiku-san says that’s very strange. I must agree, Anjin-san. Here almost every girl uses one for ordinary relief without a second thought. How else can a girl stay healthy when she’s restricted where a man is not? Are you sure, Anjin-san? You’re not teasing?”

“No—I’m, er, sure our women don’t have them. That would be—Jesus, that—well, no, we—they—don’t have them.”

“Without them life must be very difficult. We have a saying that a
harigata’s
like a man but better because it’s exactly like his best part but without his worst parts.
Neh?
And it’s also better because all men aren’t—don’t have a sufficiency, as
harigatas
do. Also they’re devoted, Anjin-san, and they’ll never tire of you, like a man does. And too, they can be as rough or smooth—Anjin-san, you promised, remember? With humor!”