“Why?”
“The Captain-General was right: God help us all if the Ingeles puts to sea in Erasmus, armed, with a half-decent crew.”
Blackthorne and Mariko were sleeping in the nocturnal peace of their little house, one of a cluster that made up the Inn of the Camellias, which was on 9th Street South. There were three rooms in each. Mariko had taken one room for herself and Chimmoko, Blackthorne another, and the third that let on to the front door and veranda had been left empty for living and eating and talking.
“You think this is safe?” Blackthorne had asked anxiously. “Not to have Yoshinaka, or more maids or guards sleeping there?”
“No, Anjin-san. Nothing’s truly safe. But it will be pleasant to be alone. This inn’s thought to be the prettiest and most famous in Izu. It is pretty, neh?”
And it was. Each tiny house was set on elegant pilings with circling verandas and four steps up, made from the finest woods, everything polished and gleaming. Each was separate, fifty paces from its neighbors and surrounded by manicured gardens within the greater garden within the high bamboo wall. There were streamlets, and lily ponds and waterfalls and blossom trees in abundance with day perfumes and night perfumes, sweet smelling and luxurious. Clean stone footpaths, delicately roofed, led to the central baths, cold and hot and very hot, fed by natural springs. Multicolored lanterns and happy servants and maids and never a cross word to disturb the tree bells and bubbling water and singing birds in their aviaries.
“Of course I did ask for two houses, Anjin-san, one for you and one for me. Unfortunately, only one was available, so sorry. But Yoshinaka-san isn’t displeased. On the contrary, he was relieved as he wouldn’t have to split his men. He has posted sentries on every path so we are quite safe and can’t be disturbed as in other places. Why should we be disturbed? What could possibly be wrong with a room here and a room there and Chimmoko to share my bed?”
“Nothing. I’ve never seen such a beautiful place. How clever you are, and how beautiful.”
“Ah, how kind you are to me, Anjin-san. First bathe, then the evening food and lots of saké.”
“Good. Very good.”
“Put down your dictionary, Anjin-san, please.”
“But you’re always encouraging me.”
“If you put your book down I—I’ll tell you a secret.”
“What?”
“I’ve invited Yoshinaka-san to eat with us. And some ladies. To entertain us.”
“Ah!”
“Yes. After I leave you, you will select one, neh?”
“But that might disturb your sleep, so sorry.”
“I promise I will sleep very heavily, my love. Seriously, a change might be good for thee.”
“Yes, but next year, not now.”
“Be serious.”
“I am.”
“Ah, then in that case, if by chance you politely changed your mind and sent her away soon—after Yoshinaka-san has left with his partner—ah, who knows what the night kami might find for thee then?”
“What?”
“I went shopping today.”
“Oh? And what did you buy?”
“Ah!”
She had bought an assortment of the pillow devices that Kiku had shown them, and much later, when Yoshinaka had left and Chimmoko was guarding on the veranda, she offered them to him with a deep bow. Half in jest, he accepted with equal formality, and together they selected a pleasure ring.
“That looks very prickly, Anjin-san, neh? Are you sure you don’t mind?”
“No, not if you don’t, but stop laughing or you’ll ruin everything. Put out the candles.”
“Oh no, please, I want to watch.”
“For the love of God, stop laughing, Mariko!”
“But you’re laughing too.”
“Never mind, put the light out or . . . There, now look what you’ve done.”
“Oh!”
“Stop laughing! It’s no good putting your head in the futons. . . .”
Then later, trouble.
“Mariko . . .”
“Yes, my love?”
“I can’t find it.”
“Oh! Let me help you.”
“Ah, it’s all right. I’ve got it. I was lying on it.”
“Oh. You’re—you’re sure you don’t mind?”
“No, but it’s a bit, well, not exactly uplifting, all this talking about it and having to wait. Is it?”
“Oh, I don’t mind. It was my fault for laughing. Oh, Anjin-san, I love you so, please excuse me.”
“You’re excused.”
“I love to touch thee.”
“I’ve never known anything like your touch.”
“What are you doing, Anjin-san?”
“I’m putting it on.”
“Is it difficult?”
“Yes. Stop laughing!”
“Oh, I’m so sorry, perhaps you—”
“Stop laughing!”
“Please forgive me. . . .”
Afterwards she went to sleep instantly, totally spent. He did not. For him it had been fine, but not perfect. He’d been too worried about her. He’d decided this time was for her pleasure, and not his.
Yes, that was for her, he thought, loving her. But one thing was perfect: I know I’ve truly satisfied her. For once I’m absolutely sure.
He slept. Later the sound of voices and quarreling, and, mixed with it, Portuguese, began to filter through his slumber. For a moment he thought he was dreaming, then he recognized the voice. “Rodrigues!”
Mariko murmured, still locked in sleep.
At the sound of footsteps on the path he lurched to his knees in controlled panic. He lifted her as if she were a doll, went for the shoji, and stopped just as it was opened from the outside. It was Chimmoko. The maid’s head was lowered and her eyes discreetly closed. He rushed past her with Mariko in his arms and laid her gently in her own quilts, still half asleep, and ran silently for his own room again, the sweat chill on him though the night was warm. He groped into a kimono and hurried out again to the veranda. Yoshinaka had reached the second step.
“Nan desu ka, Yoshinaka-san?”
“Gomen nasai, Anjin-san,” Yoshinaka said. He pointed to the flares at the far gate of the inn, adding many words that Blackthorne did not understand. But the gist of it was that that man there, the barbarian, he wants to see you and I told him to wait and he said he wouldn’t wait, acting like a daimyo, which he isn’t, and tried to push past, which I stopped. He said he was your friend. Is he?
“Heya, Ingeles! It’s me, Vasco Rodrigues!”
“Hey, Rodrigues!” Blackthorne shouted back happily. “Be right with you. Hai, Yoshinaka-san. Kare wa watashi no ichi yujin desu.” He’s my friend.
“Ah so desu!”
“Hai. Domo.”
Blackthorne ran down the steps to go to the gateway. Behind him he heard Mariko’s voice, “Nan ja, Chimmoko?” and a whisper back and then she called out with authority, “Yoshinaka-san!”
“Hai, Toda-sama!”
Blackthorne glanced around. The samurai walked up the steps and crossed toward Mariko’s room. Her door was closed. Chimmoko stood outside it. Now her own crumpled bedding was near the door where she would always sleep, correctly, should her mistress not wish her to be in the room with her. Yoshinaka bowed to the door and began to report. Blackthorne walked along the path with growing elation, barefoot, his eyes on the Portuguese, the width of the welcoming smile, the light from the flares dancing off his earrings and the buckle of his jaunty hat.