The Pillow Book of the Flower Samurai

by Barbara Lazar

Genres: Historical Fiction; Literary Fiction

Synopsis

I am Kozaisho: Fifth daughter, Woman-For-Play, teller of stories, lover, wife and Flower Samurai. In the rich, dazzling, brutal world of twelfth century Japan, one young girl begins her epic journey, from the warmth of family to the Village of Outcasts. Marked out by an auspicious omen, she is trained in the ancient warrior arts of the samurai. But it is through the power of storytelling that she learns to fight her fate, twisting her life onto a path even she could not have imagined...

Release date: July 5, 2012

Publisher: Headline

Print pages: 465

Sample

I. Conspiracy

I shared the dream with my family at our morning meal. In this one, I sat in a polished-wood room. My many kimonos glittered while servants brought trays with artfully arranged food in lacquered bowls. I ate with glossy black chopsticks.

My parents listened and hugged me, but my mother clicked her tongue. My brothers ignored my dreams, and my sisters laughed. I frowned at my sisters and pulled their hair. I did not like their laughter, and they knew it.

Later that morning I tried to learn. ‘Please let me try again,’ I begged my next elder sister.

‘Why do you bother? You never get it right.’

‘I used the grinding stone.’ I said. ‘It took a long time, but I did it right. Please?’

‘You have watched me many times.’ Fourth Daughter continued her sewing.

‘Perhaps if I sat next to you.’

Fourth Daughter spread her knees and lifted her cloth. ‘Just this once. Keep away from the needles.’

My gaze followed her flashing fingers. Fourth Daughter was our best seamstress. I knelt on the straw-scattered earthen floor looking up through her hair. I leaned close.

‘Her breathing ruins my stitches,’ Fourth Daughter whined.

I bent closer and ignored her. I had to learn. Her needle pricked my forehead, and I wailed.

‘I was afraid I would hurt her,’ Fourth Daughter said to my mother, with the tearful tremors she had practised in her voice. ‘I warned her!’

‘Instead of helping, you hurt me.’ I tugged her hair, hard.

Fourth Daughter screeched.

Mother scowled. Her eyebrows knotted together.

Second Daughter cocked her head and placed another finished embroidery on the mound atop a clean cloth. ‘Could not Fifth Daughter do something else?’

‘Nothing. She is useless.’ Fourth Daughter rubbed her head. ‘She scorches the barley. She could not carry the buckets to Father and the boys.’

‘If Fourth Daughter can do it, so can I,’ I said, hoping that this was true. I was excited at the notion of doing something else, although afraid I might fail.

‘She is too small.’ Mother tutted. ‘Such an important task.’

‘She is faster than a dragon, especially with farm tools.’ Second Daughter defended me.

‘She has not been to the fields since Winter Solstice,’ Mother said, in a softer voice.

‘Remember last harvest, when she begged to work the grinding stone?’ Second Daughter reminded my mother.

Mother’s shoulders drooped.

‘That flat stone was almost as big as she was, yet she put the thick cords around her fingers and ground some barley.’ Second Daughter had begun a new piece of sewing.

‘I’m not sure she can carry the yoke and the buckets with the weight of the water.’

I widened my eyes and stared at her. ‘I can do it. I can.’

‘She cut grain as well as Third Son, and he is older by three years,’ Fourth Daughter said. She had told me she hated carrying the buckets.

My place in the family would have been secure if I had been a boy. As if being the fifth girl was not enough of a burden, I had no skill in any feminine activity.

‘Give me a chance, please.’ I was thankful for Fourth Daughter’s support, although the buckets were her task. Knees bent, I pretended I was already carrying that heavy weight. I clenched my hands, feet apart, solid in the straw. Hoping.

Finally Mother said, ‘Practise first.’

I had ranked as less than useless. Perhaps I could do this important thing.

After putting the yoke around my neck, Mother attached the buckets. They were heavy, but I knew I was strong. Even so I would have lost half the water in two steps. The empty buckets swung too far out with every pace, but only at first. My sisters laughed, which made me want to pull their hair. I learned to walk with a rhythm – head up, shoulders straight and hands on the yoke.

‘None of your older sisters could balance then so quickly, Fifth Daughter.’

Fourth Sister glared. I knew not to make a face at her or she would hit me later.

Mother demanded I wear my festival clothes, inside out as customary; she knew I loved them and would take extra care. ‘You will not return with the usual filth.’

Years of wear had dulled the festival smock and trousers to pink. Mother had dyed them red for First Daughter, now married with two children. Second Daughter had burned a hole at the end of one sleeve. Third Daughter, just married, had torn a seam and repaired the trousers with white silk thread. Fourth Daughter had embroidered flowers on the front of the smock.

I dressed, and Mother made the directions to the fields into a song. She and I sang it until I had memorised it. She placed a kiss on my neck and folded a thick cloth under the wooden yoke and its heavy load.

‘You will do well.’ She kissed the top of my head.

Second Daughter wished me good fortune. Fourth Daughter crossed her eyes and wrinkled her nose. She was probably glad that I would do her task and not be underfoot all morning.

This was something I might be able to do.

I plodded along the paths around plots of land, careful to avoid loose soil, alert for stones, determined not to lose a drop of my father’s water.

The crop grew short on the fields, not tall enough for late spring, perhaps because it had been cold, with little rain. The last time the barley had been short like this, the hot soup had tasted terrible, scratched my throat and had not satisfied my stomach for long.

O Earth and Harvest Gods, please let us not be hungry! Let me never again eat boiled earth.

I saw an animal on a far path, a huge demon, white eyes wild in its black face, hair flying like kite strings. A brown haze hid its feet, as if the animal trampled angry clouds. Its movement pulsed through the earth to my legs, like a drum, and I trembled. I checked my buckets; no water had splashed out.

I had heard of horses but never seen one. The black monster came directly for me, trampling the barley, ripping clods from the rows. I grasped the ropes to stop the buckets swaying and trotted fast, shoulders straight, desperate not to lose any precious water. The demon headed straight for me. A fist snatched at my chest. I wished Father was here.

Closer. The animal spun around me, swifter on four legs than I on two. If the horse wanted the water, he would not have it. My feet ran in another direction.

Earth Gods! Swallow me, with my buckets still full and my clothes clean.

Soil scattered around me. It dried my eyes and closed my throat and shortened my breath.

I blinked and coughed. I could not tell which way to flee in the heavy umber smoke. The yoke bit my shoulders. Mother’s cloth padding as useless as a dried leaf. The buckets were still full, but my trousers were filthy. I saw Mother’s frown. I needed to make my father proud.

The horse circled around me, nearer and nearer. I turned, feeling its hot snorts, smelling its musky odour. I looked for escape but could find none. I stopped. Whatever happened, I would defend my cargo.

The horse’s hoofs stilled. Dust settled on the fields, like dark snow. I wiped my eyes, rubbed my palms against my cheeks.

The massive black animal panted loud and fast, smelling of sweet sweat. A strange man perched on it, dressed in thick brocade. White gauze swathed his head and face. He brushed the garments away from his face with the back of one hand. The other fingered his moustache.

Breathing hard, I watched the horse’s chest, moving almost like mine. I licked my lips. They tasted of dirt soup, but I swallowed the spit – I did not know the man.

A deep bow would tip my buckets so I bowed only my head. Trouble? Perhaps I should offer him some water.

The man slid off the horse. I stepped away, still carefully, so he would not tread on me. He stood, like an egret, tall and lanky, his head almost too big for his body, the brocade, once white and purple, now lightly speckled brown.

My legs grew heavy. My hands stiffened around the yoke. I wanted to stare, but I forced myself to focus on the barley shoots he had ruined.

O Goddess of Mercy, let me be on my best behaviour. I must please my father and mother. I cannot fail with the buckets, too.

Head down, I studied the flowers on my smock, inside out, almost as pretty. I wriggled my toes in my sandals and made tiny puffs of dust escape through their worn straw. I hoped he would hurry. I could not be late to the fields.

‘Girl. What is your name?’

Shrill as a buzzard-hawk, his voice prickled over my skin. I held the yoke firmly, ready to run. ‘Honourable sir, I am Fifth Daughter.’

‘You will do. Better than your sister.’

Better than my sister?

‘Walk beside my horse,’ he said. ‘I will take you to your father’s fields.’

My sister had met the priest. Which sister? Fourth Daughter? Or Second? Why had she not told us? Father might wonder why Fourth Daughter had not brought the water.

I imagined Father’s praise for bringing a divine person to our field. Had Fourth Daughter already brought him? The priest could bless our crops this dry spring. Would that be better than my sister? Today I would make Father proud. I shifted and balanced the yoke between my fingers and palms, and gazed ahead at the priest’s back.

What a fortunate day.



II. The Negotiation

As we reached our field, men and horses approached from behind a nearby hill, the one with the mulberry grove. Four sweaty men in loincloths held up a palanquin. Horses and samurai surrounded them as they strained to set it on the ground. Only one person in the world had such a transport.

The richly dressed man who stepped out had to be – could only be – Proprietor Chiba no Tashiyori, the Above-the-Clouds person who owned all the fields and was as rich as anyone in the world. Father said important people, the people Above-the-Clouds, had servants to carry them. They did not walk on the ground like us.

With care I trudged next to Father. My shoulders burned. My neck throbbed, despite the cloth and Mother’s kiss. My eyes begged him for permission to take the yoke off.

He glanced down and the ends of his mouth lifted. His big crooked tooth laughed outside his lower lip. With one fingertip he tapped the end of my nose. Father gestured to my brothers. First Son came over and escorted me to the far corner of our plot. There, he relieved me of my heavy burden. We watched. No one spoke.

The priest left his black horse and strolled over to my father. His small eyes glistened in the near midday sun. When he opened his mouth, his black teeth made his face look like a skull. I trembled. First Son stepped closer to me, placed his big hand on top of my head, drumming his fingers in the gentle, playful way he always did.

Rubbing my stinging neck, I watched. This priest spoke to Father, but I could not hear their words. Proprietor Chiba motioned to the priest and next placed his forearms across his belly. The priest nodded, then laid his open hand on my father’s back, pushing him towards the proprietor. When Father reached the proprietor, he bowed until his knees, hands and forehead touched the ground.

When he rose, he stood with his hands at his sides. Proprietor Chiba pointed to our fields and to each of my brothers. Father’s shoulders slumped, and he stared at the ground. He and Proprietor Chiba spoke back and forth. I was still too far away to hear the words. This priest, his thin lips moulded into an odd smile, spoke to my father.

My father turned and waved for me to come. I did so and bowed. ‘Stand. The honourable proprietor wishes to see you.’

Looking down, I rubbed the dirt off my smock and trousers and wiped my face.

I bowed like my father. Proprietor Chiba told me to rise. One of his fingers pressed under my chin, pushing my face up. With two fingers of his other hand he rubbed my cheek.

‘Yes, Goro. Very good.’ Proprietor Chiba nodded and spoke to the priest. ‘In fact, perfect.’ He released my face. ‘Now, Fifth Daughter, off to your brothers.’

The priest and Proprietor Chiba thought I was perfect. I left, imagining what kind of reward my family would receive because of my good work.

My father, the priest and Proprietor Chiba continued to talk. The exchange took longer than the finishing touches to a meal when I was hungry. What were they doing? Perhaps they were going to reward me for carrying the buckets.

Father motioned to me again, and I hurried over.

I studied him, noticing his colourless face, his lowered eyes. There would be no reward.

‘I can hardly believe I must say this to you, my child.’ He gulped. ‘Proprietor Chiba has offered me . . . us . . . our family . . . the extra land we have talked about so often. In good harvest years, we would not need to sell sewing for our winter food or charcoal.’

I heard such longing in his voice.

Father’s throat bobbed. His fingers caressed my sore shoulders, and tears pooled in his eyes. ‘But, Fifth Daughter, Proprietor Chiba wants you in exchange for the land.’

‘The proprietor wants me? To do what?’

‘I do not know, but in exchange for the land he wishes you to live with him on his shōen.’

‘For how long?’

My father stood silent. He hung his head.

‘Days? How many days?’ My ears buzzed like a swarm of summer mosquitoes.

‘A lifetime.’

A fist smashed deep into my core. He was talking about selling me. I would go away for ever. Never to return. Disgrace strangled me, like a rope around my neck.

No! Not me! Carrying the pails was Fourth Daughter’s task. I could do other work, not the sewing but other things . . .

‘No, Father! Not see you again?’ The world spun. I seized his thigh to steady myself. Sweat dampened my pink smock.

‘My little Fifth Daughter.’

‘Not me!’

He placed both hands on my back.

‘Do we really need the land?’ Fourth Daughter should have been here. Why was this happening to me?

‘You are my baby, my beloved daughter. How can I sell you?’ he mumbled, as if he were speaking to someone far away, combing my hair with his fingers.

I gazed into his eyes. He had always resolved my troubles. ‘Since it is spring, could I stay at the shōen until after the harvest, then come home? Would that pay for the new field?’

‘There is no other way. For the family, I must sell you.’ His voice embraced a final sorrow.

Tears hit my head. I touched them with my fingers. Father choked a little and placed a large hand on his throat. We stood in our field holding each other. A bush warbler flew over us, singing its beautiful ‘ho-hoh hokekkyō’.

‘I love you, Fifth Daughter, but he . . . he is the proprietor.’ He pulled away and ruffled my hair. ‘The priest says this . . . change . . . will be easier for you because you are younger.’ He laid one hand on mine and rested the other on my head. He swallowed. ‘We have often talked about our family honour. You know how important it is.’

I tried to listen to what he said above the noise in my ears.

‘This you must do so that we keep our honour.’ He squatted. We were face to face, and he narrowed his eyes. ‘You know that our souls belong to our family’s spirit. That is our honour. You must go with Proprietor Chiba. Mantain the family honour.’

I nodded. My lips were too stiff to make words.

My father enclosed me in his arms, put his head against my middle and sobbed with no sounds. I held him. He smelt of dry soil and sweat. When he was calm, he placed a hand on each of my shoulders. ‘Always remember,’ his voice cracked, ‘each day of my life I will love you. Your family loves you. Do your duty by going with Proprietor Chiba and following his orders.’ His large hands encircled my face. ‘I am sad to send you away, but I do so with great honour.’

I wrote his words into my spirit.

Father did not want me to go. I did not want to go. Yet I, Fifth Daughter, would provide my family with a complete new piece of land. I, Fifth Daughter, not Fourth Daughter, would permit my family to have food and charcoal – even in bad-harvest winters. They would never eat soil, as we did two winters ago.

‘Father, I will do my duty. Please tell Mother and my sisters I will bring honour.’ I, Fifth Daughter, had granted my family a gift none of the other daughters could: land. Precious land.

My eyes watered. With clenched hands, I turned and made a low bow to Father and smaller bows to each brother, even to Third Son. Looking up, I saw tears tumbling down Father’s face.

He placed one hand on top of my head and the other on my back. Then he turned and led me to Proprietor Chiba.

I had never heard of a child, once sold, returning to their family. Perhaps I could. If I worked hard at Proprietor Chiba’s, he would have to let me go because I had done my duty so well. I hoped to go home soon. With honour. My family’s honour.

The proprietor grabbed my sore neck and twisted me in the direction of the palanquin, the samurai, the horses, his shōen and a new life.

A large samurai dismounted and strode to Proprietor Chiba and bowed low. ‘Permission to speak? Permission to oversee this one on the walk, my lord?’ He spoke with a quiet growl.

Proprietor Chiba replied in a voice as dark as a winter thundercloud: ‘If you must, Akio. Yes, yes, as usual.’

Proprietor Chiba had spoken differently before. He had changed into another person. The samurai Akio boosted the grunting proprietor into his palanquin and mounted his own chestnut horse.

I surveyed the land to say goodbye and to remember. On my right was a small hill. A large mulberry thicket with little leaf buds grew on its west side. The priest had disappeared and a chill surged up my spine.

Later, I wrote this poem:

Suddenly cold as

The spring’s Solstice Holy Day

My family gone

No one to scatter soybeans

To cast out all my demons



III. New World

Ahead – an endless wall. The shōen. My new home. Without my family.

A man shouted, and five men pushed open the gate, bigger than my house. Was everything going to be so huge?

Inside the gate, the sweating men with sly grimaces and muffled grunts set down the palanquin. The priest dismounted and waited for Proprietor Chiba to stand.

After a small bow, the priest said, ‘If she is satisfactory, I hope you will send word of my accomplishments to the Taira City or, dare I say it, to Governor Taira no Michimori, or his annoying emissaries.’

‘Understood. Word of our actual arrangement to the commander would harm both of us. He would not favour either of us rising any higher.’

‘Chiba, this one is so much more beautiful than the older sister.’ The priest raised one eyebrow and smiled, showing his blackened teeth. ‘The local temple here is, as I have said, becoming quite boring, except for our . . . business.’

More beautiful? Older sister? Fourth Daughter and me?

‘Yes.’ Proprietor Chiba smiled a toothy smile.

‘Proprietor, this is the sixth girl I have directed to you.’

‘Goro . . .’ Proprietor Chiba lifted his palm to the priest.

‘All the girls have been satisfactory. For both of us.’

‘Yes – yes, Tashiko dances well.’ Proprietor Chiba nodded, and his chins jiggled.

Tashiko? Another girl?

‘She is a pretty child, is she not?’ The priest tilted his face down to Proprietor Chiba’s.

‘Not as handsome as this one.’ Proprietor Chiba pointed a pudgy finger at me.

I was handsome? Was I beautiful, too?

‘It is an honour to perform at your temple here on your shōen, but as one is pulled up the ladder . . . so will another. And I must be invited to the Third Day Third Month Doll Festival.’

‘Or what? I have the girl now.’ Proprietor Chiba stuffed his fists on top of his hips.

Did he mean me? I looked about for other girls, yet saw none.

‘Or what? There are so many possibilities, Chiba no Tashiyori. Revoke your tax-exempt status. Remove your samurai or . . .’ The priest counted, one finger, two fingers, three. ‘You may run this shōen but I control some Taira temples. I have influence over the commander, and he owns you. All I desire is a coloured hat.’

‘I know. You shall have what you want, your tedious rank and a hat,’ Proprietor Chiba growled, like a trapped animal.

‘And do not damage the girls – do not injure them in any way.’ The priest’s body changed from egret to hawk, and he dropped his face closer to Proprietor Chiba’s.

‘Have I ever?’ Chiba raised his shoulders and stepped away. ‘But I must discipline them.’

Discipline? Damage? Hard words. Frightening words.

‘You know what I mean. Otherwise—’ The priest leaned towards the proprietor again.

‘Goro, there is no need for threats. No need at all.’

‘An invitation this year and every year, until we both move up. I believe we are truly destined to help this clan in a higher capacity. Do you not agree?’

‘Naturally you shall be invited to the Third Day Third Month Doll Festival.’

‘I believe now we will be going in the same direction . . .’

Proprietor Chiba walked away.

‘. . . soon,’ the priest finished, to Proprietor Chiba’s back. The priest turned to me. ‘You will see, Fifth Daughter. I was sold to a monastery when I was younger than you. What do you see now?’ He opened his arms wide and pivoted from side to side.

He sounded pleased with himself. I had no idea what he meant. I merely bowed.

‘Fine clothes, a horse, a house and enough to eat.’ He fondled a lengthy piece of leather that hung at his waist. ‘Authority and power. More importantly, soon, Fifth Daughter, soon I will wear a hat of colour, as well as these priest’s robes.’ He peered down at me. ‘Then no one will dominate or control me.’ He straightened in the saddle. ‘I will visit you again, beautiful girl.’ He mounted his black beast and rode away.

Proprietor Chiba glided towards me, tapped my head with his fleshy fingers and motioned me to follow. Standing straight, hands at my sides, I marched behind him. We crossed a wooden bridge to a large building I had seen from outside.

Thinking about what the priest said and resolving to follow Proprietor Chiba, I studied the wobbling expanse of his robes and fell. My head hit the small stones covering the hard earthen path. Hundreds of stone needles struck my face. I heard my mother shout, ‘You have spoiled your festival smock.’ In my shame and pain I lay still. I wanted to hide.

Strong hands, my samurai’s, hoisted me. He rescued me. He came for me. ‘Are you hurt?’ He held me upright with both hands and looked me in the face.

My legs flexed like wet straw. ‘I do not think so.’

‘Can you stand by yourself?’

I said yes, but my legs dipped when he let go. He caught me. His eyebrows puckered like Second Daughter’s did when I fell out of a tree or cut myself.

With several long breaths, my legs steadied. My eyes refocused.

Ahead, Proprietor Chiba motioned again to me with his chubby fingers. Standing straight, hands at my side, I caught up with him and marched behind him, as was correct.

Proprietor Chiba stopped, hands on hips. ‘Let the servants of Big House assemble.’ His voice resonated – needing to be obeyed.

‘Bring Tashiko,’ he barked. ‘Ready Lesser House. We will need a kimono. This size.’ He swivelled and pointed a fat finger at me. ‘For my new acquisition, Fifth Daughter, whom I bought on my prescribed walk.’

I was an acquisition? If this had not reflected on my family’s honour, the next time he pointed at me I would have bitten his fingers. I hated being pointed or laughed at.

Proprietor Chiba pushed me along the row of collected people. A beautiful array of cloth and colours flickered on each: deep leaf green with gold thread, sea blue with red flowers, earth black with dazzling sunset pink. I tried to concentrate.

I smelt sweat and food or soap when I passed each person. I also saw their hands and feet. The hands were reddened and rough, calloused like Father’s and my brothers’. Would I ever see my father and brothers again? Others were coarse, chapped like Mother’s and my sisters’. I would probably never see my family again. These feet – huge, small, or gnarled. One pair even turned inwards. Each person wore shoes of heavy cloth, not like my straw ones.

My toes already poked through my sandals, and my face grew warm trying to hide them. Father would not make me a new pair until the straw came in. No, he would not. He was not here.

I wanted to cry. My tears would not fall. I had eaten a little barley before dawn, nothing since. My throat and belly clawed at me. Night was approaching and darkness was breaking over me.

Yet on this day I had discovered that not only was I worth the price of land, I was handsome and beautiful.



I. A Rival

A girl scuttled up and stood next to me, taller than I, perhaps one or two years older. A pale blue kimono encased her. With long fingers she grasped my arm above the elbow. Thick lashes made her black eyes large in her round face. She chewed her bottom lip. She bowed to Proprietor Chiba and murmured to me, ‘Tashiko.’

‘Tashiko will attend to Kozaishō,’ Proprietor Chiba ordered to the people. ‘If any observe Kozaishō in need, assist her. Do not speak to either girl directly, unless you have my consent.’

Tashiko pushed on my shoulder to guide me. Her sweet smell reminded me of bush clover and pinewood, not at all like the spicy sweat of my sisters.

When we were away from the others, I bowed. ‘Permission to ask a question, Honourable Tashiko?’ She seemed only a little older. Still, I wanted to make a good first impression.

‘Just Tashiko. No permission needed.’

‘Tashiko, what is a “prescribed walk”?’

‘The ride Proprietor Chiba takes when he has been told to walk.’

This made no sense to me. Therefore I asked no more questions.

Tashiko steered me to a miniature house a short distance from the shō. ‘Lesser House,’ she whispered.

We climbed what Tashiko called ‘steps’ to a roofed floor around the house, which Tashiko called the watadono. ‘For rain or shade,’ she said. Yellow cloth covered Lesser House’s window. I touched it when Tashiko’s back was turned. My fingers remembered what Mother had taught me: it was a heavy silk. This type of cloth allowed the light in and also gave privacy. Mother’s lessons. What if I failed here?

Inside, coloured woods, pieced together, covered the ground and shone like a full moon with no clouds. Heaviness pressed on my chest from breathing in its odd odour. Such a floor would be easier to keep dirt away. What other new things waited for me?

A thick futon lay bundled in one corner. Dolls sat on it, several dolls, all dressed in colourful fabrics, not straw. Their real eyes stared at me from smooth white faces, with real red mouths and real black hair and no expression. They were so beautiful, yet they did not seem happy.

I looked at Tashiko and around the rest of the house. A large brazier and screen crowded along one wall for the two of us. Winter nights might be warmer here. In another corner a round object of carved wood spread its legs like upside-down flower petals, as if it were bowing. A bowl of water perched on top of it.

‘What is that?’ I pointed.

‘Table. For dishes.’

Tashiko taught me other words for things. Some I accepted meekly, some I came to love, and some I learned to hate.

Tashiko seized my hand and pulled me. ‘Come. I must bathe you.’

We went beyond Lesser House and into the bathhouse, where she combed and fingered my hair. ‘Your great beauty, so thick and heavy. Does it take long to dry?’

‘At home . . .’ pressing my lips together so I did not to cry at this word ‘. . . it takes m-most of a w-warm day to dry it.’

‘Here, let me take these old things off,’ she said, and removed my smock and trousers.

‘They are not old! I want them! They are mine!’ I snatched them and held them to my chest. Today I had lost my family; I would not lose my festival clothes.

‘I shall keep them.’

‘Promise?’

She tossed my trousers and smock into a corner. She pointed to a small wooden stool. ‘Sit.’ I ran and grabbed them back. ‘Not till you promise.’

‘I promise.’

I stared at her and then handed my clothes to her with great ceremony.

She rolled her eyes. ‘Now sit. I will scrub you.’

‘I did not play in the mud today.’ I hoped this would save me from whatever she would do. Then I remembered my fall at the gate. ‘Oh . . . I did.’ I gave myself to my fate, but not my best costume. ‘I still want to keep my clothes.’

She nodded. ‘Proprietor Chiba wants you washed.’ With a brush and a bowl of prepared water she began. Long strokes from my head to my bottom, up and down my legs to my feet, over and over again. She worked until my skin reddened. I glared at her. She did not stop.

Was she annoyed because I wanted to keep my smock and trousers? I had not done anything to her yet. What if I yanked her hair? But she was a stranger. I did nothing, except keep my eyes on my clothes, even though Tashiko had promised.

After the pouring of clear water, Tashiko pointed to a large deep round bowl raised above the floor. ‘Now soak.’

She took my festival clothes from the corner, folded them and put them on another stool. Smoothing them, she murmured, ‘Look at this.’

‘Fourth Daughter embroidered those flowers.’

‘An unusual colour.’

‘Mother dyed it red for First Daughter. They will be too small for you,’ I added, afraid she might take them.

She nodded. ‘Put as much of yourself as you can under the water.’

The warm water made me feel as if I was flying, in a cloud, in a dream. I closed my eyes and my ears filled with the sounds of horses gallopi