No one moved until the all-clear came.
Even then they started to pick themselves up warily, maids rushed in with smelling salts for Raiko who tottered away leaning on them, while kitchen workers helped Hiraga to his feet. He was in pain but did not show it. At once he stripped and went out to the servants' area and washed himself, scrubbing and scrubbing, filled with revulsion--he had had only enough time to dig his hands into the nearest bucket of night soil and smear himself and rush to a place near the fires.
When he was partially satisfied he stalked naked for his house, to bathe again, this time in hot water, certain he would never feel clean again.
Raiko intercepted him on the veranda, not fully recovered from her alarm.
"So sorry, Hiraga-sama, the lookout failed to warn us but the samurai in that garden...
Hot water and a bath maid is waiting for you inside but now, so sorry, perhaps you should go, it's too dangerou--"
"I am waiting for Katsumata, then I shall leave. He has paid you well."
"Yes but the Enforc--"
"Baka! You are responsible for the warning system. If there is another mistake, your head goes in the bucket!"
Grim-visaged he stalked into the bathhouse where the maid knelt and bowed so fast she banged her head. "Baka!" he snarled, not yet over his utter fright, the foul taste of fear still with him. He squatted on the tiny stool, ready for the maid to begin scrubbing. "Hurry up!"
Baka, he thought enraged. Everyone is baka, Raiko is baka, but not Katsumata --he is not baka, he was right again: without the shit I would be dead, or worse, captured alive.
YEDO Dusk was a busy time for the inhabitants of Yedo's Yoshiwara, the biggest and finest in all Nippon, a maze of tiny streets and pleasant places on the edge of the city, covering almost two hundred acres, where Katsumata and other shishi, or ronin, could hide in safety--if acceptable.
Katsumata was particularly acceptable.
Money was not a problem for him. He paid the waitress for his soup and noodles and strolled unhurried towards the House of Wisteria, still disguised as a bonze though now he wore a false mustache and was clad differently, his shoulders made wider with pads, his robe richer.
Colorful lanterns were being lit everywhere, gardens and paths given their last brushing, fresh flower arrangements finished. Inside the Teahouses and Inns of greater or lesser importance, geisha and courtesans and mama-sans were being bathed and dressed, chattering and preparing for tonight's entertainment. Kitchens abuzz, men chopping and dicing and preparing sauces and sweetmeats and decorations and cauldrons of the choicest rice, cleaning fish and caressing marinades into them.
Lots of friendly laughter. Misery here and there, some in tears thinking of clients allocated or strangers who must be received and welcomed with smiles and laughter, and satisfied--and not the young lovers many hearts yearned for, the yearning to be left alone and allowed to sleep. As always, mama-sans and older, more experienced courtesans gentled them, repeating the same dogma that Meikin was saying to Teko, Koiko's maiko, now in tears, who was to make her debut as a courtesan this night, "Dry your tears, Moonbeam, accept without thinking the sad impermanence of life, accept what lies ahead, laugh with your sisters, enjoy wine and song and your pretty clothes, gaze at the moon or at a flower and drift with the current of life like a gourd drifting downstream. Run along now."
I will not accept that Katsumata betrayed my Koiko with just cause, Meikin thought, her heart aching. He had no need or justification to compromise my precious with that woman shishi, however brave! Worse, he was baka to end such a marvelous source of influence and private information from Yoshi's shadow, stupid stupid stupid! But it is done. Finished. Take your own advice, Meikin: Drift, what does it matter, truly?
I accept that it matters. Koiko mattered to all of us, not the least to Yoshi, now pitilessly against all shishi.
Again the mama-san sat at her mirror. The reflection stared back at her. Her makeup, heavier than usual, no longer hid the shadows and sagging care lines.
I accept, too, that I have aged horribly since the shoya interrupted us, Raiko and me-- Eleventh Day of Twelfth Month, Last Month, the last day of my life. Just thirty-three days ago. Only thirty-three days and I look like a crone, long past the normal span of fifty years. Thirty-three days of tears, a lake of tears when I thought I was safely beyond tears, sure that I had used up all my tears long ago, over lovers I can hardly remember, over one I can still feel and smell and taste and yearn for, my penniless young samurai who left without warning, without a word or letter, for another Teahouse and another woman, taking the little money I had saved and the broken pieces of my spirit that he cast into the gutter. And later then more tears over my baby son, dead in the house fire of his foster parents, his rich old merchant father wandering off like the other, my suicide unsuccessful.
Too many Floating years. Thirty-three years drifting, one for each of the harrowing days.
Now I have forty-three years, forty-three years today I was born. What should I do now? Soon the Lord Yoshi will demand payment. Karma.
I accept that I trained Koiko, offered her, guaranteed her. What more can I offer in supplication? What can I do?
Her reflection did not answer.
A knock. "Mistress, Katsumata-sama is here, he is early."
Her stomach felt hollow. "I will be there instantly."
To calm herself Meikin drank some of the gai-jin brandy that Raiko had given her. When she was easier, she went out and along the exquisite corridor towards a guest reception room, all woods and tatami and shoji the most expensive. In wonderful taste. Bought and paid forwith so much effort and heartache and cajoling but, because of Koiko the Flower, her House was immensely profitable and a pleasure for her bankers. Today she had a meeting. "We notice, so sorry, your receipts are considerably down compared to last month."
"It is the season, a poor time of the year for all Teahouses, and unseasonably cold.
Business will pick up with the spring. We are in huge profit for the year, there's no need to worry." But she knew, and knew the Gyokoyama knew that most of her profit was because of Koiko, that now a gossamer curtain hung between her and ruin. If Yoshi decided.
Then why increase your risk allowing shishi here, she asked herself. Particularly Katsumata-- he's the first of Yoshi's enemies now. What does it matter? There must be bad with the good, the bad can be dealt withandthe good enjoyed. Exciting to be part of the shishi, their bravery and sonno-joi, their fight for freedom from the yoke of centuries, laying down their lives for the Emperor in their tragic and hopeless quest, all of them so young and valiant, born to fail, so sad. And if they were to win, would those who next rule, will they free us from our yoke of ages?
No. Never. Not us, not women. We will be where we are now, in thrall to the yang.
Her eyes caught a glimpse of the moon breaking out of a sunset-reddened cloud, for an instant peerless, to be swallowed again, the red becoming more brown and then gold and into darkening flames--one moment alive, the next dead.
"Beautiful, neh?"
"Yes, Katsumata-sama, so sad and so beautiful, yes. Ah, they have brought tea, so sorry you are leaving us."
"I shall be back in a few days. Have you anything more from Raiko? Anything further about the gai-jin, their plans?"
Meikin poured tea for him, pausing a moment to admire the superb design of cups. "It seems the Lord Yoshi has had a meeting with the gai-jin leader to make friends with them."