Tale of the Warrior Geisha (10 page)

“She looks like the moon princess.” Chizuru gripped Tomoe's arm. Neither approving nor disapproving. Tomoe glanced down at her callused hands, her largish feet. Next to Yamabuki, Tomoe towered big as a man. Awkward and ungainly.

“Come on.” Chizuru began walking toward the house. “Let us help her out of those formal kimonos. The poor thing can barely breathe.”

Resentment shot up. For the first time in her entire life, Tomoe refused her mother. “I must rest. I don't feel well. My head aches.”

Chizuru leaned in to her daughter. “Tomoe, do you not understand? You are to be Yamabuki's attendant. That is your role.”

She yanked herself away, staggering back. “I do not want to be her servant.” A woman like that could not do anything on her own.

“Don't expect things of Yoshinaka he can't give.” Chizuru pointed toward the house. “Come with me.”

Tomoe hesitated. Her mother glared at her. She thought of the fawn, how easy it had been to kill it. She imagined Yamabuki's white face in the white snow, crimson pouring out of the wound. She shook off the image. She must do as her mother asked. No matter what.
“Hai,”
Tomoe said, and led the way to Yamabuki's house.

Yamabuki Gozen

M
IYANOKOSHI
F
ORTRESS

S
HINANO
P
ROVINCE

H
ONSHU
, J
APA
N

Winter 1174

T
he journey to the north took more than two weeks. Akemi and her mother were long gone, and Okāsan refused to go, so Yamabuki made the journey alone with the hired men who carried the litter. She had one trunk with her, filled with fancy kimonos she would probably never have occasion to wear, sandalwood incense sticks, a bottle of perfume from Otōsan. On the seat next to her sat her koto. She was glad, at least, that Okāsan had allowed her to take this instrument.

Yamabuki buried herself under a mountain of blankets, wishing they could have waited until the spring, but at the same time glad to be out of the stifling house, where her silent parents sulked.

She spent every second of traveling, both awake and asleep, thinking of Akemi. Sometimes with joy—her beautiful face, how she made her laugh. But mostly with sadness. How Akemi had left suddenly that very same afternoon she told her she was getting married. She gathered her things while Okāsan took Yamabuki into town that evening. When they returned, there was no evidence that Akemi or Hotaru had ever been there.

Obāchan-obake sat across from her in the litter, watching Yamabuki with an eerie stillness that made Yamabuki think she was merely painted on the wall.
I am here if you need me,
Obāchan said, but Yamabuki refused to acknowledge her. She was too old for imaginary friends.

When Yamabuki left her house, only Otōsan came out to say good-bye. He gave her a stiff, awkward hug. “Have a good life, my daughter,” he said, and his eyes filled. “
Sayonara.
Yoshinaka is a good man, I have heard. He will take care of you.” Otōsan's voice broke.

Okāsan stood in her doorway. She slid her door shut. So she would not even bid her own daughter farewell.

So be it,
Obāchan-obake said next to her.
At least now, you will be out from under your mother's long shadow.

“So be it,” Yamabuki said aloud. She said
sayonara
to her in her heart. How long would it be before she and her father lost everything? Yamabuki's spirit felt heavy at her parents' betrayals. She left the compound without a glance backward.

An hour before they arrived at Miyanokoshi, they stopped for Yamabuki to change into her nice kimono. She stood behind a copse of trees, hidden from the men. She needed help with the long obi that must be wrapped around her body several times, then secured, and she was forced to ask one of the men for help. He wiped his hands on his pants, embarrassed, clumsily securing the length of silk. Yamabuki's face burned. She was no longer a lady.

At last they arrived at the fort, the men carrying the litter through the open gate. Rather clumsily, with a sigh of relief, the men set the litter down on the ground. Outside, unfamiliar voices spoke. A rough voice, deep. Kiso? Her heart thrummed as she stepped out into the snow. She expected the first person she would see to be her new betrothed, Yoshinaka, but instead the first person was a beautiful girl.

Tomoe Gozen.

She stood as tall as a man, but gracefully lithe as a deer. She moved like a man, too, secure in her body, in her world. Her skin was like polished porcelain, her lips a ruddy red and her cheeks naturally tinted pink. Her eyes shone amber out of her face, light brown with a dark black ring around the color, glowing like a goddess. Her hair, a long and shiny deep brown-black, hung over her back. You could no more take your eyes off Tomoe than you could off a burning building.

The goddess-woman bowed back to Yamabuki, who contained her fear behind a calm mask. Later, she would discover Tomoe was a great warrior, which made her even more fearful. But right now, she only wished to not offend her.

She wished Tomoe to be her new friend.

Then her eyes fell upon Yoshinaka. Hairy, coarse, big. Face not too bad, not like the
oni
she had feared. A permanent frown line creased between his brows, on his forehead. But he smiled at Yamabuki as a child would at a precious doll, and she relaxed, knowing at least he would be gentle.

—

On their first
night as husband and wife, Yoshinaka unrolled the futon and took off his kimono without ceremony, dropping it to the floor, exposing his big and hairy body as if it were nothing. As though they had already been married for twenty years and it didn't matter a bit.

Yamabuki clutched her kimono to her breast, her body tightening and shrinking. She had never seen a naked man before, and his member seemed to her to be a club he wanted to beat her with. He scanned her body with open lust, his face wild. This was going to hurt. There was no way to pretend otherwise. She lay back and closed her eyes and began to cry soundlessly. She could not imagine how this wedding night would provide pleasure for anyone, for what kind of man could derive pleasure from a woman's pain? Obāchan appeared, her white hair glowing spectrally.
Be brave, Yamabuki,
she said.
It will be all right.

She did not need her
obāchan
for this. “I will be all right. Begone!” she said roughly, and Obāchan vanished as though a figment of her imagination.

At the fierceness in her tone, Yoshinaka knelt beside her, his face flooded with concern. He stroked her hair. “Are you talking to me, Yamabuki? I won't hurt you. I promise.”

“No. To myself.” His expression was eager and hopeful. Yamabuki made herself open her arms to him. He embraced her gingerly, taking care to keep his full weight off of her. “I know you won't.”

He kissed her, and it was nothing like Akemi's soft kisses. The rough hairs on his chin scratched and burned her face, his tongue was big and muscular as it shoved into her small mouth. He kissed with passion and Yamabuki tried to respond, but could not move her head properly. Her entire face was wet, saliva dripping down into her hair, onto her neck. He opened her kimono to caress her breasts, but he was as gentle as a bull trying not to trample flowers. He sucked her nipple into her mouth, scraping it against his teeth. His fingers moved into her.

Yamabuki swallowed, trying not to cry out in pain, or pull away from her new husband. She looked up at the dark ceiling and imagined she saw stars there, imagined she was out of her body, floating in the sky with Akemi, and at last relaxed.

—

Here at Miyanokoshi,
Yamabuki saw Obāchan-obake often, as she had when she was a small girl. At night, she sat next to Yamabuki, murmuring bedtime stories. She waited in the courtyard when she fetched the water at the well, telling her,
It's slippery, be careful, don't fall in.

“Leave me alone!” she blurted out one evening at her
obāchan
, and Chizuru looked alarmed. Yamabuki shook her head, embarrassed. “
Sumimasen.
I am talking to my
obāchan
, Chizuru.” Somehow she thought Chizuru would understand, and she did, because she put her hand on Yamabuki's arm and Obāchan faded into nothingness.

Tomoe Gozen would not speak to Yamabuki. Her face and manner were never vengeful, as she had feared, but rather resigned as she attended to her. She thought Yamabuki a fool, it was plain to see. Yamabuki tried to chop vegetables and it was as if her hands were newborn lambs, unable to perform. She nearly cut off a finger. “Leave it to me,” Tomoe said, and pushed her aside.

Yamabuki tried not to be a bother to anyone. She sat indoors as much as she could, as she had in Miyako, doing the simple chores Chizuru requested. It was, on the one hand, good to not be indoors or hidden away all the time, but quite another to be out in the country, no city comforts to be had. Everything was always dirty, covered with a film of brown that made her eyes itch. The house was always so very cold, the wind blowing chill up here with no houses to stop it.

—

On the evening
of the fourth day, as Tomoe was occupied elsewhere, Yamabuki tried to comb her own hair. It was hopelessly knotted and snarled from the trip and from evenings in bed with Yoshinaka.

Tomoe came in and sat down. She did not speak, but watched her for a few minutes as Yamabuki put her hair over her head, trying to work the knots through unsuccessfully.

“You look like a wild animal,” Tomoe said at last. “Do they teach you nothing in the city?”

“I am sorry,” Yamabuki whispered, giving up. Indeed, her hair hung over her face and looked like dead black snakes. “My maid did my hair.” At the thought of Akemi, she began crying again.

Tomoe came over with a sigh escaping her nostrils, taking the comb out of Yamabuki's hand. “Perhaps we should cut all your hair off and start over.”

Yamabuki folded into herself. Perhaps one day, if she could get through this rough part, she would be strong as Tomoe. “If you think that is best.”

“Do you think it's best?” Tomoe began working the comb through the knot, holding the hair with one hand so it did not pull the scalp. “Don't you have your own thoughts, or do you always echo others?”

“It would be easier if it were as short as a man's,” Yamabuki answered, putting her hands on the floor in front of her. She thought of shaving her head, like a monk's. How liberating that would be.

“Yes.” Tomoe dipped the comb into hair oil and began working it again. “But Yoshinaka wouldn't like it.”

She said nothing to this.

The door slid open and Yoshinaka appeared. “Haven't you finished with her yet, Tomoe?” he said.

“She will be done when she's done,” Tomoe answered shortly, her pulling growing more fierce. “The girl is barely better than a toddler. She cannot care for herself.”

“Be good with her. Send her to me when you're done,” he said, and shut the door.

Tomoe worked faster, pulling at Yamabuki's scalp now until silent tears went down the girl's cheeks. “That Yoshinaka. So considerate. How lucky you are.” Tomoe's tone was bitter.

Yamabuki wondered if Tomoe enjoyed Yoshinaka's company and she wished he would go back to her. There was a new pain between her legs. It burned each time she urinated.
He will tire of you soon,
Obāchan promised, but she wasn't sure that was a very good thing to hope for, as a new wife. Still, she thought she should respond to Tomoe, so she said, “I am lucky to be here, Tomoe Gozen.”

Tomoe pushed Yamabuki's hair back out of her face. “You are finished. Go to him.” She waved Yamabuki out the door, her face tight.

“Thank you.” Yamabuki's hand went to her hair. It was still knotted.

Tomoe Gozen

M
IYANOKOSHI
F
ORTRESS

S
HINA
NO
P
ROVINCE

H
ONSHU
, J
APAN

Spring 1174

T
omoe refused to meet her mother's reproachful glare. Yamabuki stumbled over the uneven, rain-soaked ground in her
geta
and white
tabi
, carrying a basket of laundry down to the stream.
She must learn to be strong,
Tomoe thought.
We do her no good by coddling.
She had been here nearly a month, and this was the first time Yamabuki had emerged to do anything besides sit on the sidelines, watching the activity. When she volunteered in her spectral voice to help, Tomoe handed her the basket of laundry without a word.

The snow had finally melted. Baby birds chirped hungrily in nests, daffodils bloomed brighter than the sun, and even the brook seemed to sing a happy song. She wanted to stomp on every single one of them. It was normally Tomoe's favorite time of year. When suddenly the dullness of winter vanished and new energy filled your legs? But Tomoe still felt dimmed, rusted as a blade stuck and forgotten in dirt.

Tomoe scrubbed a kimono on a rock, her hands nearly frozen in the cold water, her legs bent in a squat beside the water. Here, everyone had to do some work. Even the new lady-wife of Yoshinaka, who was now asking everyone to call him Lord Yoshinaka. “She's used to sitting inside, doing nothing but staring into space as she thinks of poetry,” Tomoe muttered to her mother. Tomoe couldn't imagine such a life.

“She's barely more than a child.” Chizuru wrung out underclothes. They both watched Yamabuki pick her way down the bank, waving at them. Chizuru waved back. “She doesn't know what to do. Think of how she feels. Her parents practically sold her off to the notorious Kiso, the countryside brute. No one else would have her.”

“He's not a brute.” Tomoe sighed. “Yamabuki!” she called. “This is not the city. This is the country. We don't wear these
tabi
to do chores. You understand?” She spoke slowly, as she would have to a dull child.

Yamabuki bowed her head. “I apologize,” she said in her whispery voice. Even the skin on her head was moonlit white. Tomoe hoped the girl wouldn't wither away. At least, not on her watch.

“Ah.” Tomoe took the clothes from her. “Fresh air is good for you, don't you know that?” She examined the girl, waving the gnats away from Yamabuki's eyes. The bugs were starting to be active, and Yamabuki seemed to be more of a target than the others. Already her face had a few red welts from where she had been bitten.

Yamabuki flushed a little as Tomoe looked at her. She bent her head. “The bugs are attracted to me,” she said, in a low, ashamed voice.

“That's because you're so sweet,” Chizuru said.

Tomoe rolled her eyes. If Tomoe had ever complained about bug bites, Chizuru would have told her to toughen up. She treated this girl better than her own daughter.

Yamabuki knelt in the mud beside Chizuru, her kimono directly in the mud. Tomoe wondered if there was something wrong with her brain.

“Oh, no!” Chizuru said. “Don't kneel. Squat, like we are.”

Yamabuki tried to imitate them. She managed to sink down only about halfway. “I can't. It hurts.”

“Try again,” Chizuru urged. “You only need a bit of practice.”

Yamabuki attempted to squat again, but couldn't put the heels of her feet down. As her bottom neared the ground, she lost her balance and fell over. “Oh!” Yamabuki put up one egg-white hand, covered in mud. “I haven't got the hang of it.”

Tomoe stood. If the girl was to survive in any capacity, she would need help. She faced Yamabuki. “Hold my hands.”

The girl took her hands. They were very small and frozen in hers, the skin papery and dry.

“Now, I will squat, too. You hold on to me.” They bent their knees, lowering their bottoms slowly, holding hands tightly, arms outstretched, until their legs landed in the squat position.

Yamabuki's eyebrows went up into surprised curlicues. “It's working!”

“Of course it is.” Tomoe released her. Yamabuki frowned as she tried to bear her own weight. “See, Yamabuki Gozen? You just do as I say, and you'll be fine.”

Yamabuki squat-walked over to the water, her
geta
squishing in the mud, her white
tabi
splattered brown. Tomoe stifled a giggle. The girl dipped a kimono into the water gingerly, observing how Chizuru was scrubbing before attempting an imitation. “This place is so beautiful, Chizuru-san. I love the mountains.”

Tomoe looked about. She had grown up here and noticed the landscape only if it affected her, such as whether she needed an extra kimono for the cold. She tried to see it through Yamabuki's eyes.

A breeze blew through the pine trees bordering the other side of the small river. Birds cuckooed and called each other in wild song, darting in and out of the green space. On the riverbank, white daisies were beginning to bloom. Narcissus and wild lilies poked their newly bloomed yellow and purple heads out behind Chizuru. Beyond, the higher elevations still had snowcapped peaks, the spring frost not yet touching them.

Yamabuki scrubbed ineffectually at the cloth. Tomoe wrinkled her nose. They would be better off with a toddler helping them. She glanced at Chizuru, hoping her mother would correct Yamabuki, but Chizuru said nothing.

Suddenly, the girl stopped scrubbing and spouted a poem:

“Timid, the pines sway in the springtime breeze.

Birds looking for their homes.

An iris blooms in the still-hard ground.”

The girl blushed, as though embarrassed.

Chizuru clapped. “How pretty! How lucky we are to have such a girl here. Our lives have been too long without poetry.”

Tomoe frowned. She, Tomoe, could write poetry if she wanted. Besides, Chizuru shouldn't encourage foolishness. The girl needed toughening up. “The ground isn't hard. You're in the mud.”

Chizuru clucked. “Oh, Tomoe. The poem is about her. She is the timid pine.”

“And you are the iris in the frozen ground.” Yamabuki relayed this with a shy smile.

“Oh.” This mollified Tomoe. No one had called her an iris before. “Is that what you did in the capital? Sat around and thought of poetry?”

“Sometimes.” Yamabuki returned to scrubbing. “It was much more boring there, honestly. I wasn't allowed to do anything. I spent most days alone. When visitors came over, my mother made me sit behind a screen. She is very old-fashioned.”

Tomoe wondered if Yamabuki had ever come across Wada. After all, Yamabuki's father and Wada were both courtiers. Wada and his poetry, his round face. She smiled at the memory. No, she would not ask. For even if Yamabuki were to tell her, Tomoe might not want to know.

“This must be quite shocking,” Chizuru said. “All these people. Especially all these men!”

“Yes, Yoshinaka was quite . . . shocking.” Now Yamabuki colored and scrubbed a lot harder.

“Don't worry. You'll get used to him. I did.” Tomoe, giggling, surprised herself with her boldness. It was fun to tease Yamabuki, who now bowed her head even lower, her face deepening into crimson.

Chizuru reprimanded Tomoe with a soft slap to her shoulder. “Tomoe Gozen. Ladies don't speak of such things.”

“Nor do real ladies have to wash laundry.” Tomoe wrung out her kimono. She stood. “We are far from real ladies out here. You better help along Yamabuki, Mother, or we'll have to rewash everything.”

Yamabuki burst into tears, her hands clapping over her face. The kimono caught in the stream. Tomoe rushed forward and grabbed it out of the water, not caring if her bare feet got wet. “What's the matter with you? What does crying ever solve?” She was incensed. Nobody had ever cared if Tomoe cried.

“Tomoe, hush.” Chizuru put her arm around Yamabuki and rocked her. Yamabuki clutched Chizuru back with a howl, causing Chizuru to sit right in the mud. Chizuru didn't mind. She continued to rock Yamabuki until her wild sobs quieted. “She has been torn away from her family, Tomoe. I am as close to a mother-in-law as she has. And you are her sister. You have always had your family. You always will.”

Tomoe felt ashamed. Going from a life of doing nothing, to a life in the north with a new hairy husband, would be wrenching. It wasn't as though Yamabuki had chosen Yoshinaka on her own. Or as though Yoshinaka had chosen Yamabuki. All things considered, Yoshinaka surely preferred Tomoe's hardiness and practicality over Yamabuki's fragility.

Chizuru stared at Tomoe, her eyes flashing. Tomoe sighed. She knew what that meant. Chizuru had already told Tomoe to treat the new girl like a little sister.

“Hey, Yamabuki. Tell you what.” Tomoe squatted down and peered into Yamabuki's reddened and puffy eyes. Why, she was still in her teens, Tomoe thought with a pang. Seemingly much younger, kept locked away from the real world. No wonder she was nonfunctional. Automatically, she smoothed back the girl's hair. Yamabuki smelled faintly of sandalwood. “We'll go into town today. Buy you some mochi candy.” She lifted the girl's hair. It was as soft as rabbit fur, smooth and glossy. In the sun she saw hints of blue tone under the black. “Maybe a pretty new comb. Would you like that, Yamabuki-chan?”

Yamabuki lifted her puffy face from Chizuru's shoulder. “I'd like that very much.”

Tomoe handed Yamabuki the kimono that had floated away. “But you still have to finish the wash first.”

—

They were not quite finished
with the laundry when Yoshinaka appeared, holding two short swords. “Tomoe,” he said, or rather barked. “Come along. I have new farmers. We will do a demonstration.”

Tomoe stood, her legs stiff, glad to leave the wash behind. She glanced toward Chizuru. “We can finish. Go on,” Chizuru said.

Yamabuki stared at the swords, at Tomoe. Tomoe wondered what the girl was thinking.

“Come on. Daylight is short.” Yoshinaka gestured to her.

Tomoe moved her head toward Yamabuki. She felt sorry for the girl, so bent over the laundry, her hands already red and chapped. “Okāsan, can you spare Yamabuki? Perhaps she would like to observe.”

Yoshinaka let out an impatient sound. “She doesn't need to observe. She needs to wash.”

Yamabuki demurred. “Yes, I must finish the washing.”

But Chizuru pushed at the girl. “You need a break. Run along.”

Yamabuki stood uncertainly as a calf, her kimono caked in mud. Tomoe held out her hand to help Yamabuki cross the slippery bank. A streak of mud lay across her cheek.

Yoshinaka laughed. “You look like you've been rolling with pigs! Perhaps you should leave your clothes for Chizuru to launder.”

The girl's eyes filled. “Hush,” Tomoe said, suddenly protective. How like Yoshinaka to be insensitive. She put her arm around the girl.

Yoshinaka snorted. “She's going to have to toughen up to live here.”

“Give her time,” Tomoe said, aware she was taking on her mother's role.

They walked to a clearing, where a half-dozen farmers waited for them, along with Kanehira. Her brother narrowed his eyes and sat down. Tomoe directed Yamabuki to sit on a small boulder. She did, her fingers laced over her knees, her eyes wide. Yoshinaka threw the short sword to Tomoe, who caught it by the handle. The farmers gasped, as did Yamabuki, the girl's hand flying to her eyes.

“That is not a proper way to handle a weapon.” Tomoe stuck the sword through her obi on her left side. She was mostly joking. This kind of showmanship was what she loved best: she and Yoshinaka doing things no one else had the audacity to even dream up.

Yoshinaka removed his jacket, so he was bare-chested, wearing only pants. His strong chest shone in the late afternoon sun. He crouched, his sword at the ready. Tomoe smiled at him and he winked at her. Her heart caught. This is how she loved to see him. In his element. “You must observe,” he said to the soldiers.

He came at Tomoe, thrusting his sword toward her. She didn't parry but stepped forward and grabbed his arms, pushing him away from her. He lost his balance and fell to his knees.

“You're not trying, Yoshinaka,” a farmer called out.

“Your turn.” Yoshinaka handed him the sword. “In fact, all of you. Come at her at once. With your rakes or whatever you have. Go ahead.”

Tomoe braced herself, holding her sword ready. The farmers, after hesitating a moment, raced toward her, their sorry farm implements aloft. She blocked each effortlessly, careful not to stab any of them, breaking the wooden handles, shoving the men away with her foot as though they were overlarge gnats. One managed to wrest itself away.

Yamabuki gasped.

Yoshinaka grinned, clearly pleased with Tomoe's efforts. “That will be all, Tomoe. Go finish the wash.”

Tomoe wiped perspiration from her face. The farmers, shamed by a woman, sat in a semicircle around Yoshinaka, their heads hung low. “Don't you want me to teach them what they were supposed to do?”

“That's my job.” Kanehira stood. “Go back to your woman's work, Tomoe.”

Tomoe scowled, ready to argue, but Yoshinaka had already turned his back to her. Tomoe sighed. “Come along, Yamabuki.”

They walked back to the bank, Yamabuki behind her, unable to keep up with Tomoe's long strides. “Why won't they let you teach them? You are the best.” The girl's voice was admiring.

Tomoe did not answer.

“They don't like being taught by a woman,” Yamabuki guessed in her high, whispery voice. “But Yoshinaka will let you humiliate them.”

“It is good for new soldiers to be humiliated,” Tomoe said, heading down the steep slope. “They need to be broken.” But she clenched her fists. She didn't enjoy doing woman's work any more than Yamabuki did. However, she supposed Chizuru didn't enjoy the wash too much, either. It was a necessary evil.