The Blonde Samurai (23 page)

“I demand to know how you found yourself with child.”

“No matter what you do to me, I will not reveal the father of my baby.”

“Do you take me for a fool?” he asked. “You were with that samurai woman when we found you.”

I said nothing, refraining from revealing anything that would incriminate Nami. Watching him pacing up and down, the preoccupied expression on his face disturbing me.

“You’ve been with this Shintaro I’ve been hearing about from members of the legation,” he continued. “A
samurai.
It’s
his
child you’re carrying, isn’t it?”

“Leave me alone, James.
Please.
” I turned away from him. Suddenly the small bedroom seemed airless and stale.

“It matters not to me who fathered the little bastard,” he insisted, smiling, then pouring himself another brandy. “Only that the child guarantees my future.”

“What foul scheme has possessed your maniacal way of thinking?” I asked, the intensity of his smile terrifying me.

He toasted me, then drank the liqueur. “It’s quite simple. You will give up the child and return to London as my wife and no assessment of adultery will be lodged against you.”

He continued, saying this “unfortunate incident,” as he called my absence, would be quickly forgotten if I produced an heir, a son. He made no secret that I must make myself available to his sexual urges until I
did
produce a male heir.

“And if I refuse, James?”

“I will make it known in every circle in Mayfair that you are no better than a common whore from the lowest lodging house. With your reputation ruined,” he said in a businesslike manner, “I shall be free to seek a new wife to beget me with an heir.”

“You are humiliating and vile,” I sputtered, knowing he was cruel enough to carry out his threat. But like a dog with its nose pressed up against another animal’s arse, smelling, he wasn’t finished.

“To guarantee my silence on the matter, I also want a sum from your father in the amount of—” He named a figure I found exorbitant, but what choice did I have? If I didn’t do as he wished, I would be ruined along with my family.

A burning restlessness fueled by his demands made me want to strike back at him, but I didn’t. Not for lack of courage, but because I had learned to keep my emotions hidden, to redirect my anger to a humble place, to never
forget I followed the way of the warrior. Loyalty, discipline. I could not allow my family to suffer because of what I’d done. I had no choice but to give up my baby and return to my life in London as a childless woman.

James outlined his plan, though I admit my entire being floated in and out of consciousness, my mind reeling, knowing I was responsible for my baby’s soul as well as my own and I could not fail.
I would travel to Ōzaka with a native woman to assist me,
he said,
where I would have my baby with a private midwife.
To assure himself the child presented him with no further difficulties, he would arrange to have the baby adopted. He went so far as to suggest I lace up to hide my condition as was common among women of the lower classes in England should the child be stillborn. I refused, not wishing to jeopardize my baby, while in my mind I retreated to a dark place behind the shadows, so fearful was I for my child’s safety. I assured him I would see no one. Reluctantly he agreed, but I did not trust him. James could—no, it was a thought so terrible, so ugly I shan’t write it down. I would bide my time until I made certain my baby was safe, or there would be no bargain with the devil.

I sit at the oak desk in my hotel room, reading over what I have written, wondering how I was able to endure the months of my confinement, knowing what James wished of me and what lay ahead for me in London. To pass the time, I relived the days and nights past with Shintaro, dreaming about the laughter and tears I would never know with my child. Yet as I look back, I see those days as an enchanted, beautiful time when I carried my baby within me, this long-sought dream growing and bending and feeding upon that dream. And so I entreat those of you who have borne a child
to sit next to me and feel free to speak should you desire, for I fear trying to impart the emotions and feelings of childbirth are not unique to me alone. If you have not known feelings of motherhood, I also ask you to come along with me, for ’tis a journey of sisterhood where your life will be more abundant with understanding because you will have known the joys and pain of birthing a child.

It was a time of confusion, of questions. I missed my mother terribly, not having her to ask about how she felt or when she let out the waistbands of her dresses and donned loose skirts. She would have embraced the ease of the kimono and the way it outlined the curve of my expanding belly. I can hear her saying it must have been woven by fairies, so soft it was, like holding nothing in your hands. So I shall share my time of confinement with
you,
dear lady reader. A gossip, if you will, a gathering of female family and friends. I would like to take your hand if I may, for I know that with all your attempts to remain cold and aloof to me since I am not born into the peerage, we as women share a common bond concerning the expectation regarding the birthing of a child. The apprehension, uncertainty, pain, as well as the apparent danger to our persons, make the trial of having a child an integral part of that secret world we inhabit during that time, a world filled with whispers and endearing smiles, when the calmness we take for granted sipping a cup of tea is ceremoniously interrupted by an audacious kick in our bellies, a quickening, then another and another from the tiny creature inside us. So pleasing, it makes our hearts swell with contentment, yet ’tis something we cannot share with the strong man whose moment of passion gave us this joy, but only with another woman who has known the wonder of these days, fragrant and dreamlike moments that opened to us the secret garden where life begins.

I experienced bloating, but except for slight swelling, my condition did not show for several months. My figure thickened, though I tend to retain a certain thinness and believe that is why I was able to conceal my condition. I was often moody, tearful, given to fretting over my changing body, my nipples dark and sore, my belly hardening, my face spotted, my frequency visiting the necessary place, and toward the latter part of my confinement, I wondered if I should ever feel normal again. Yet I could never push aside the fact that when my time came, I must give up my baby.

Give it up? You can’t,
you cry out, squeezing my hand.
Fight for your child, the baby is yours and no man, not even his lordship, has the right to take it away from you.

I knew you’d fight for me, dear lady reader, and so you will understand that although I lay in bed for weeks, spending a scant few hours a day on my feet, you will not judge me harshly for braving the wrath of my husband when I overheard the physician attending me speaking with James.
He would recommend two or three native women to assist me in preparing for my trip to Ōzaka,
he said, with James choosing the woman to travel with me for my safety. Then, as an afterthought, he mentioned the reported sightings of samurai in the settlement.

Orders from the consul were to shoot them on sight.

Shintaro.
I swore I’d heard noises at night outside the western-style glass windows, stealthlike, as if the voyeur could peel back the thick walls and slide them open like a paper door to peer inside. I
knew
he’d come, but he would do nothing to jeopardize the welfare of our child.
How was I going to tell him I must remain with my husband?
He was a samurai, and I prayed he would understand the loyalty I owed to my family. I had to come up with a determined, infallible
plan to keep my child safe, but what? Days thinking…until I realized I suffered from the Occidental ailment of
too much
thinking, not allowing my mind to act as I had been taught to do, to move forward with the confidence of a warrior. I recalled the grace and fluidity of Shintaro wielding his sword, the effortlessness. The beauty of his movements
Don’t think, do.
And so I would. I sneaked out when my husband was off somewhere and made my way to the shop of the old swordsmith and bade him take word to Shintaro. I had a plan, dangerous, daring, but my baby’s life depended on it, for I believed within my heart that James would never allow my child to live.

When I was but a fortnight from my due time, I started out for Ōzaka aboard the train with my black cloth traveling bag in hand, the quiet native woman hired to accompany me nervously clutching her ticket. Her dark eyes cast downward, praying my husband wouldn’t look too closely at her.

Nami.

When the native women had arrived at our house for his lordship to choose my traveling companion, I took it upon myself to assume the lead. I reminded James that I spoke the native language, so he put up no protest when I interviewed the women and chose Nami, telling him she was best suited to assist me. I carried off my part with great aplomb, hoping my scheme would work. James had seen Nami but once before in the woods, her long hair loose and her posture in clear defiance of him. Here she remained placid and compliant. Submissive. I thank the holy saints he never questioned my choice.

Nami played her part well, acting the perfect servant, straightening my chest drawers without being asked, brewing
hot tea at the proper times and showing the deepest respect by dropping to the floor and touching her forehead to the straw mat when James or I entered the room. By Nami keeping her head bowed low whenever my husband was present, as was the native custom, he never suspected anything was amiss. I felt rather clever at having accomplished the ruse by arranging with Shintaro to have her arrive with the other native women. I held back my joy at seeing her, using the most formal language when I spoke to her, but noted her smile when she gave me a bleached-white cotton obi to tie around my protruding belly,
a native tradition to help ensure an easy delivery,
she said. So eager was James to return to London, he gave no further thought to the comings and goings of a lowly servant.
I was not only to submit to him after the birth of my baby to produce an heir,
he said,
but cajole my father into drawing up a new letter of credit.
I had no choice but to do as he wished. Da had written to me that the U.S. was in an economic depression with no end in sight. I didn’t wish to add to his mounting troubles with a scandal.

I admit, dear lady reader, it was daring and exciting to race down the aisle in the railway car after James saw us safely aboard, the two of us heading toward the rear exit. Pushing my way though the narrow corridor, hot and perspiring, I panicked when I felt the sudden rush of wetness between my legs. I sniffed it and a shiver went through me. It had the smell of bleach, not urine.
My bag of waters had broken.
My step faltered when the locomotive jerked forward, a hiss of steam pouring out the engine, the whistle sharp and shrill in my ears, startling me as if announcing my deceitful deed. I ignored it and got off the train without mishap with Nami behind me. By the time my husband received word I had not arrived in Ōzaka, we’d be safe in the samurai village. Only
after I looked into my baby’s eyes and held its tiny body, soft and warm, in my arms, would I return to James and fulfill my duty.

First we must complete our escape.

It was too dangerous for my samurai to move around the foreign settlement, so Akira disguised himself as a jinriki-man. Bowl-shaped straw hat upon his head, chest bare, wearing a loincloth and straw sandals, he waited for us outside the train terminal alongside the
kuruma
procured by the old swordsmith. He bowed, then nodded in approval when he saw my thin navy serge jacket barely covering my large belly. He picked me up into his strong arms and lifted me into the vehicle, his touch sending a different kind of thrill through me, comforting, tender. I will never forget that moment.

Akira lifted up the shafts, got into them and tilted his body backward, then we raced out of the settlement and up into the hills, Nami and I laughing and crying and clinging to each other. All that mattered was that Shintaro waited for us with horses atop the hill near the small sanctuary. I was alive again, and happy and free.

The hills behind the foreign settlement. Hidden in the bamboo thickets where I first lost my way, breathing in the fragrance of the orange blossoms which had guided me here, petal-soft rain cooling the fever in me brought on by my reckless escape, exhausted and nearly faint, I fell into the arms of my samurai.

Shintaro.

“I thought I’d never see you again,” I whispered, his strong arms holding me, his fingers loosening my hair then burying his face in it, breathing in my scent.

“I prayed to the gods you would be safe—” he stroked my
belly, hard and round, as if he could feel the life stirring within me “—and the child.”

“
Our
child, Shintaro,” I said, looking up at him, his dark eyes worried and curious, a kind of wild flickering in its depths then it was gone. I closed my fingers over his, clenching my teeth as another pain ripped through me. “Hold me…
please.
”

He pulled me closer to him as the pains kept coming, closer and closer together, setting off a new fear in me. The child was not yet due but the pains had been regular, intense, a dull, heavy pain in my back and my loins before abating, stopping, then coming again.
I was in labor.
Why now? Here in the woods? How long before the baby came? What if I couldn’t birth the child? And my baby…would I find the courage to endure—for no romance of illusion this—the strength to survive long enough to hear its first cry?

I rested my cheek against my samurai’s shoulder, as if overcome with a great weariness, exhaustion setting in. But it was no time to surrender to my weary self when my child was stirring inside me, begging to burst out, stubborn and persistent, determined to find its way with a freshness of spirit that exhilarated me. I was in a state of grace in this setting of nature, wild and free, surrounded by large cedars smudging the landscape with subtle black strokes, tall bamboo bending with the wind, bushes dripping with white flowers sown by the seeds of the gods. I tensed when a breath of wind blew over me, making me shiver. Dusk loomed low like a shy creature of the night watching me, its breathy mist hovering over me. The rain had stopped, but darkness would soon cover us, making it too dangerous to brave the treacherous footpath down into the hidden village below or back to the sanctuary.
What lay ahead of me, pray?