‘Here’s the one I was looking for.’ There was a rustle of paper as Fujino folded back a wrapper and lifted out a kimono. Taka held her breath and stretched out her hand to touch it. In the dim light, wild chrysanthemums embroidered in gold, pink and indigo scrolled across the pale mauve silk of the sleeves, shoulders and hem.
‘And this one.’ Her mother held up an over-kimono with a thick quilted hem and a design of bamboo leaves woven into the pale ivory silk. It was embroidered with olive-green bamboo fronds, and a little green heron with an orange beak peeking from the foliage. The cuffs and shoulders and hem were a glowing shade of persimmon orange. ‘They’re heirlooms. I haven’t seen them for years.’
Taka lifted the soft fabric reverently. It was smooth and heavy.
‘These were my mother’s too.’ Dabbing her eyes, Fujino reached into another chest and brought out ancient tea-ceremony bowls, tea caddies in woven silk bags and bamboo tea whisks and ladles. She took a tea bowl in her plump hands, feeling the weight of it, then passed it to the maids. ‘Your grandmother was the most famous geisha in all Kyoto. The imperial princes used to come down from the palace to be guests at her tea ceremonies and see her dance.’
Taka and Haru nodded. Their mother had told them many times how one of the princes had fallen in love with their grandmother and wanted to take her as his concubine. But the palace authorities had forbidden it and to defy them would have meant exile and disgrace, maybe even death. Their grandmother had been in love with the prince too but as a good geisha she put his well-being before her own and forbade him ever to see her again. Later she had been the mistress of merchants and sumo wrestlers and then had had a long relationship with a famous kabuki actor, but she never forgot the prince. When the mistress of her geisha house died, she was given the keys and became the mistress herself, and so achieved what was every geisha’s dream in those days – financial independence.
Taka had been terrified of her. She remembered her as a small, stern woman who had seemed very, very old. She held herself very straight and used to clamp her bony fingers around Taka’s arm and fix her with her piercing eyes whenever Taka did anything wrong. The skin of her wrists was so thin it was almost transparent. She ran the geisha house with a rod of iron but was kind to her grandchildren and used to tell them stories in a husky whisper.
Haru was on her knees, her hands folded in her lap, her chignon perfectly oiled. She gestured at the pile of kimonos and pottery and lacquerware. ‘I don’t need these, Mother. I’m going to another house, they’ll be lost to ours. You keep them.’
‘ “Going to another house”.’ Their mother shook her head and laughed sadly. ‘The daughter of Fujino of Gion, getting married. Whoever would have imagined that? Some of my friends married their lovers but not me, your father never chose to take me as his wife. I’ll always be a geisha. But my Haru a bride, imagine! And you too, Taka. You’re going to school and you will be a bride too. Soon no one will ever know we’re of geisha stock.’
Kneeling with her back gracefully rounded, Haru looked more like a great lord’s daughter than a geisha. Taka couldn’t believe she could be so grown up, so calm and collected. ‘If it was me going off to be married I’d be desperate to know what my new husband was like!’ she cried.
‘They’re a respectable family, they’re of the highest rank and he’s an upright man with excellent prospects. The go-between assured me of it.’ Fujino savoured the word ‘go-between’. Taka knew how proud her mother was that she’d had Haru’s marriage properly arranged, just as respectable samurai families did. It was a union of families, not a spur-of-the-moment geisha alliance. ‘He’s had the family thoroughly investigated, through several generations. There are no financial problems, no hidden scandals, no insanity, no reasons for worry.’
‘I’m looking forward to putting on my wedding kimono and going off in my lacquered palanquin,’ said Haru quietly. ‘Though I am a little worried that I might not meet the family’s expectations. I hope I’ll be able to satisfy my mother-in-law.’
She twisted her small hands. She was actually very nervous, Taka could see that now. To be sent away to marry a man she wouldn’t even meet until her wedding day … Taka knew that her mother had only the best of intentions for both of them but it was a terrifying prospect all the same.
Secretly, in her heart of hearts, Taka wished her own life might turn out more like her mother’s, or like the lives she read about in romances and the diaries of court ladies of long ago. She daydreamed about exchanging verses with a mysterious gentleman on a moonlit night, as Lady Sarashina had done hundreds of years ago, or having a secret tryst in the overgrown grounds of a ruined mansion, like Ocho and Tanjiro in The Plum Calendar, or being consumed with forbidden passion like the lovers in kabuki plays who killed themselves because it was the only way they could be together.
Or perhaps she would run away with one of the imperial guards, the dashing young men with their cropped haircuts and uniforms with shiny buttons who had filled the house when her father had been there. She used to admire them from a distance. There was one in particular who’d been tall and quiet and rather intriguing. She could see that he was her father’s special confidant, though he was far too grown up to pay the slightest attention to a child like her.
She knew that in reality geishas were no happier than wives, that her mother was often lonely and missed her father and wished she could go back to Gion. But at least she and Taka’s father cared for each other. From what Taka’s schoolfriends said, samurai wives hardly ever saw their husbands. But in the end it made no difference what Taka wanted. Her life was not in her own hands. Soon she too would be sent away, like Haru, to marry a man she didn’t know. That was what happened to samurai daughters, which was what she’d now become.
‘I’m going to miss you, Haru-chan,’ said Fujino, sighing. Her eyes swam with tears. ‘It’s going to be so quiet when you leave. First your father, now you. I don’t know how I’ll bear it.’
‘Will Father come back for Haru’s wedding?’ Taka asked softly. She knew the answer. Of course he wouldn’t.
It seemed so long since she’d seen her father. She did her best not to think about it, to forget his absence, but now, unexpectedly, she remembered his big comforting hands and bulky body and large square face, as sharp and clear as if he were there. She saw him prowling the empty rooms, smoking pipe after pipe, talking in his gruff voice with his colleagues, laughing his booming laugh. Sometimes she’d peek into his quarters when she knew he was alone and find him kneeling at his table in front of a pile of papers, his brow furrowed. He’d scowl and tell her he was busy; but then he’d break into a grin and beckon and she’d run in and perch on his huge thighs. She remembered the rough feel of the cotton robes he wore at home. Cocooned in the curve of his arm, she’d felt protected from anything.
She’d tell him about her day, what she’d read, what she’d done, and he’d listen and nod and say gravely, ‘Is that so, little Taka? Is that so?’ Then he’d tell her about his own childhood, growing up far away at the very tip of the distant island of Kyushu, in the city of Kagoshima among palm trees and blue skies, with Sakurajima volcano rising in the middle of the bay, rumbling and belching smoke. Thinking of him made her feel empty inside.
When her father had been there, people had crowded the house night and day, filling the public rooms and hallways. She remembered soldiers standing around in knots, heads pressed together, discussing earnestly, petitioners lined up with gifts to give and favours to beg and people arriving to ask advice. Everyone, it seemed, was eager to meet the great general.
In the evenings stern-faced men with moustaches, in full pleated hakama trousers and knee-length haori jackets elegantly knotted at the front or crisp western-style uniforms, would drive up to the great main entrance by rickshaw or carriage. Taka’s mother hired geishas to entertain them and many of the men brought geisha mistresses. They didn’t bring their wives. It would have been unthinkable for a samurai woman to mingle wi
th men other than family members. That was the role of trained professionals like geishas; and Taka’s mother was one of the most famous geishas of all.
The men drank, talked and dined and, when enough sake had been consumed, the geishas played their shamisens and danced and sang and the guests too rose unsteadily to their feet to show off their dancing and musical skills and later still played drinking games, just like in the old days in Kyoto. Taka’s father, handsome and gallant, freshly shaved and invariably in traditional haori and hakama, would hold court.
Taka loved hearing his low voice and booming laugh when she peeked into the lamp-lit banqueting hall, though now she was no longer being trained as a geisha she was seldom called upon to serve the guests. When she did have a chance to take in drinks or food, she was supposed to behave like a proper samurai lady – keep her eyes modestly lowered, place the trays before the guests, bow and slip away. It was depressingly unlike the old days when she’d been encouraged to sit with the guests and charm them with her girlish chat. The life of a samurai lady, it seemed, was going to be a lot less fun than life as a geisha had been. In fact she was beginning to suspect that now her status had changed, fun would no longer come into it at all. From now on life would be all duty and obligation.
Then one day, shortly before they went to the Black Peony, her father had stormed in early from work and she’d heard him and her mother talking in low voices. The imperial guards in their splendid uniforms had arrived shortly afterwards, fifty or sixty of them, and she’d heard talking and shouting and the clang of steel. For five days there had been impassioned meetings, day and night. Then the servants had packed her father’s bags. When Taka asked, her mother had snapped, ‘Your father’s going to Kyushu,’ in a tone of voice that forbade further questions. She’d looked pale and tense, even though he often went away.
They’d lined up to say goodbye. When her father came to Taka, he took her chin in his big hand and looked at her hard and she saw tears in his eyes. ‘Well, little Taka,’ he’d said. ‘Take care of your mother.’
Then he was gone, along with all the young men, in a long line of rickshaws kicking up dust. Suddenly the house fell utterly silent.
Taka wondered why her father hadn’t taken them with him. In the Satsuma capital, Kagoshima, down at the tip of Kyushu island, he had a wife and children, that was no secret, but he could perfectly easily have set Fujino and her children up in a house there too. Most people’s fathers kept several households. But he’d chosen not to, perhaps because he’d left in such a hurry. Besides, Fujino would have been bored to death in the countryside.
Geishas were used to their men being absent. They all knew their lovers had wives and children, which made it all the more vital to obey the first rule of the demi-monde – never to forget that love was a game. Taka had had it drummed into her from a young age. Geishas twisted men around their little finger and made them fall hopelessly in love with them – that was their job – but they always took care never to be swept off their feet themselves. Most geishas juggled several men, who all thought they were their sole lover and supported them, and as a result the women enjoyed handsome livings.
But Taka’s mother didn’t play-act as a geisha was supposed to do. She really was devoted to General Kitaoka. She relied on him to support her and her children. There was no second lover. She paid no attention to that most fundamental tenet. That made Taka afraid for her. It was all very well being a geisha, but only if you were careful never to lose your heart.
The maids were packing away vases, kimonos and lengths of silk for Haru’s trousseau when the storehouse door slid open, letting in the darkness, along with a blast of icy air that whipped around the room. The lantern flames flickered and went out, loose kimono wrappers skittered across the floor and lacquer tea caddies rolled around, clattering. It was Eijiro, his kimono flapping. He brushed aside Okatsu and the other maids and stood over Fujino and the two girls, a triumphant grin on his large face.
‘I told you so!’ He paused dramatically. Taka groaned inwardly, wondering what trouble he was brewing up now. Ever since their father left he’d been strutting around the house, playing the lord and master, telling everyone what to do. ‘You know the sword with the gold inlay hilt that I brought back from Aizu, that I keep in the alcove in the men’s living quarters?’
‘The Matsudaira sword?’
‘I had my suspicions about that Nobu of yours from the very start. He does his best to hide his accent but I pick up the northern twang every now and then. You’re so fond of him I knew I’d need solid proof so I called him in and said, “I have something for you to polish.” Then I showed him the sword. You should have seen his face. He clenched his fists. He was shaking. He looked like he’d seen a ghost. He knew exactly what it was and where it came from and how I must have got it. I thought he was going to rip it out of its scabbard there and then and have a go at me, the way his eyes were flashing. I’d finally broken through that servile pretence of his. I knew then for sure.’ He put his hands on his hips. ‘I must say, I wasn’t surprised. I never liked him from the moment you brought him into the house. He’s a surly fellow. The way he swivels his eyes, taking it all in from under that heavy brow of his.’
‘So what happened?’ asked Haru. ‘Did he refuse to polish it?’
‘Of course not. He polished it so thoroughly I thought he was going to wear it down to nothing. He has to keep up the pretence. So there’s your proof. He’s an Aizu to the core. You brought an enemy into the house! What do you think Father would say? I’m going to throw him out right now.’
Fujino lowered her head and stared at the kimonos in their wrappers piled on the floor. Taka wondered what she was thinking.
It was hard to see Nobu as one of the hated Aizu. Of all the northern clans who had fought for the shogun, the Aizu had been the most stubborn and the most feared. It was only when they were defeated that the war finally came to an end. Her father had told her that the shogun and his supporters had wanted to stop Japan moving forward, that if they hadn’t been driven from power, their country would never have had the chance to acquire civilization and enlightenment like the western nations.
Taka remembered the shogun’s police, thin intense Aizu men with ferocious scowls and burning eyes, hammering at their door in Kyoto while her mother blocked their way, swearing her father wasn’t there. Eijiro had actually fought in some of the battles, it wasn’t surprising he felt strongly about it. But it had all been so long ago – well, five years ago, which to him might not seem so long but to her was almost half her life. She’d been a child then, it hadn’t seemed frightening to her so much as exciting.
Ever since Nobu arrived Eijiro had taken a dislike to him. Taka saw him every day, sweeping the gardens, scuttling up and down the huge rooms wiping the tatami, taking his turn to serve meals along with the other servants. He was always behind the rickshaw when she and Haru went to and from school. He behaved impeccably, did his work quietly, didn’t give himself airs, but there was something about him that set him apart from the other servants. The family all felt it. If he’d been like the others, Eijiro would have treated him as he did them, ignored him except to bark orders. But for some reason he seemed to see him almost as a rival.
She narrowed her eyes. She was still not sure that Nobu really was an Aizu. Eijiro’s proof wasn’t convincing at all. But if it was true, if he really was, then the Aizu couldn’t have been so bad after all, she thought.
It wasn’t her place to speak but the words burst out before she could stop herself. ‘Father’s fair and just,’ she said. ‘You know very well what he would say. I don’t believe Nobu is an Aizu, but even if he is, he was little then. He didn’t fight in the war.’
‘He had plenty of family who did. He’s a degenerate like the rest of them. Walks around with a scowl on his face, never says a word. You can’t tell what he’s thinking. Nothing good, you can be sure of that. You told me what he did to that Satsuma samurai at the Black Peony. He’ll do th
e same to us one of these days – slit our throats while we’re asleep if we don’t watch out.’
Taka would have laughed if Eijiro hadn’t been so determined. He hadn’t even been there. Nobu had been no match for the samurai at all. ‘He’s not like that,’ she protested. ‘He’s good-tempered and hard-working, isn’t he, Mother?’
‘You’ve been kind to him long enough. You’ve more than paid him back for helping you out at the Black Peony. You don’t owe him anything. He has to go.’
Eijiro set his shoulders. Taka knew women were supposed to obey men, that a woman had to obey her father, then her husband and, when he died, her oldest son. But there was nothing about obeying your brother, especially when that brother’s orders made no sense.
‘You shouldn’t have sent her to that school, Mother,’ Eijiro snapped. ‘Filling her head with silly ideas. Girls should know their place. We should be training her to be a good wife and wise mother. She doesn’t need an education.’
Fujino frowned. She had taken out her fan and was tapping it thoughtfully. ‘Poor Nobu,’ she said. ‘He’s only a child. Taka’s right. Even if he is an Aizu, he’s an honest lad. Your father would agree we should be charitable.’
Taka could tell by the faraway look on her mother’s face that she was thinking of Ryutaro. He would have been only a few years older than Nobu when he died. The firstborn, Ryutaro had been their mother’s favourite. Taka had hardly known him. By the time she was old enough to remember, their father had sent for him, and she was only eight when news came that he’d been killed in one of the last great battles of the civil war. Geishas were used to giving up their sons and were expected to be proud when they died in battle, but for their mother his death had come as a terrible blow.