He frowned. “Ohiro, turn around.”
When she did not respond, he went after her and took her gently by the shoulders to turn her around. “Amida!” He dropped his hands and stared in shock at her swollen face. One eye was closed and surrounded by red and black bruises, there were traces of blood in her nostrils, and she had a badly cut lip. “He did that to you?” he asked hoarsely. “I’ll kill him!”
“Please, Genba,” she said, her good eye filling with tears.
A faded curtain parted on the inner doorway, and Shokichi came in, a thin girl—almost scrawny, he thought—who moved quickly and laughed a lot. She was not laughing now. “He’s an animal,” she said sharply. “No, I lie. Animals don’t do that to each other. He’s an oni, a true devil. He raped her, too. Beating women gives him a hard-on.”
“Oh, Shokichi, you promised not to tell,” wailed Ohiro.
Genba swallowed down the sickness that rose in his throat. Opening his arms, he drew Ohiro against his wide chest and belly and laid his head on hers. “My love,” he said softly, “you must come with me. I cannot bear it any longer. He’ll kill you next time.”
She gave a small sob and put her arms around his waist. “Just a little longer,” she said. “Be patient, my love.”
He groaned. “How much do we still need?”
She slipped from his embrace and went to a trunk that held her clothes. Opening it, she dug down and brought out a small sandalwood box.
Genba glanced at Shokichi, who flushed and ducked back into the other room. He felt embarrassed, but these girls were so very poor and led such miserable lives that they would do anything to free themselves from Tokuzo’s hold.
Ohiro upended the box on the floor. A small pile of coins, some gold, quite a few silver, and a large number copper, lay on the dirt floor. She crouched down and sorted through them, counting under her breath. Then she looked up, disappointment on her swollen face. “We need another ten pieces of gold,” she said in a small voice.
A fortune.
Genba knelt beside her and helped her put the money back. “I’ll get it,” he said. “Meanwhile, lock your door and don’t go back to work. Maybe tomorrow I can get you.”
“No, no. I have to work tonight, but it will be all right. He always feels sorry for what he did and leaves us alone afterward.”
“Ohiro, please don’t. I cannot bear it … I love you.”
She reached for him, and they embraced. He wanted to kiss her but was afraid of hurting her, so he stroked her back instead. She twitched a little, and he muttered a curse. “Take off your clothes,” he commanded, pulling her up with him.
She giggled weakly and started to undo her sash. He reached for it with impatient fingers, took it off, pulled open her gown, and slipped it off her shoulders. Then he lifted her undergown over her head. She submitted, blushing furiously. Ohiro had a very nice body, with full hips and a small waist.
But instead of admiring and fondling her breasts and pulling her hips toward him, he moved around her and lifted her long hair. She gave a little cry. Turning, she started to reach for his trouser ties, but he stopped her.
“I’ll kill him!” he growled, looking at the red welts that criss-crossed her back. “I’ll kill the filthy bastard.”
Shokichi stuck her head through the door to take a look. She gasped. “Tokuzo did that? Why? What did you do?”
Ohiro snatched up her clothes and covered herself. “You shouldn’t have looked, Genba,” she said. “I wanted you to make love to me. Now you’ve spoiled it.” She burst into tears. “I cooked your favorite food, too. Sea bream with new herbs and fiddleheads. Ohhh!” With a long wail, she cowered down, drew up her knees, and buried her face in her arms.
Genba stood helpless at such a flood of tears. Shokichi went to Ohiro and put her arms around her.
“Look,” she said, glancing up at Genba, “if you really love her, you’ve got to understand what her life’s been like. Her parents died when she was nine, and she went to live with an aunt and uncle. When she was ten, the uncle started raping her. Her aunt found out and sold her to Tokuzo to be rid of her. Ohiro was okay until you came. That’s when she started balking at what customers wanted, and that’s when she got beatings. I bet this thing today happened because Tokuzo found out about you. He thinks she’s been holding back money.”
Ohiro made sounds of protest at this bald telling of her life. She moved away from Shokichi and looked at Genba with swimming eyes. “Don’t hate me, Genba,” she pleaded. “I have to work for him. I’m sorry.”
Genba finally woke from his stupor. He went to kneel beside her. “Ohiro, I love you,” he said. “I think you should run away and hide. I’ll find the money somehow and pay the bastard. Then, when all is settled, you’ll come home with me as my wife.”
Both women gasped at that.
“Your wife?” Ohiro asked, stunned. “You want me to be your wife?”
He nodded, then glanced at Shokichi, who got up.
She said, “I’ll tell the bastard you’ve had the doctor and can’t work. He’ll believe it.” She left, a smile on her face.
They made love. He was gentle so as not to hurt Ohiro, but both felt passionate. Then they ate what Ohiro had cooked, and Genba remembered the sweet he had bought.
Ohiro received it like a jewel. “I’ve never been so happy before, Genba. I love you. Thank you.” She gave him a melting glance.
And after a little while, they made love again.
It was near the middle of the night, the hour of the rat, when Genba left Ohiro. He was worried. Would the master permit him to bring another hungry mouth into the family? He was not Tora, had not served with such distinction, had, in fact, not yet lived down the fact that he had left the house unguarded three years ago when armed men had forced their way in and caused Seimei’s death. And then there was Ohiro. Tora had tried to keep his wife Hanae a secret because she was a singer in the amusement quarter. And now here he was, bringing a prostitute into the family.
And how was he to raise the money? Even if he could borrow the rest of the money to buy Ohiro out, how would he be able to face the man who had done such things to the woman he loved?
At the memory of her bruised face and lacerated back, his anger rose again. Without thinking, he turned his steps toward the amusement quarter and the Sasaya, Tokuzo’s brothel.
It was still well lit, and one of Tokuzo’s bruisers, a man who had once been a wrestler like Genba and who now kept quarrelsome customers in line, stood outside the door with a few of the girls. They looked well-worn already, but greeted Genba with eager cries of welcome. The bruiser gave him a friendly wave. Genba glared at him and quickly faded into the next dark alley where he collided with another man.
They both grunted. The other man fumbled around in the dark, and Genba realized he might have a knife, that he had surprised a footpad. He carried no money, but he did not relish a knife in the belly, and his pent-up anger over Tokuzo’s assault on Ohiro erupted in a furious attack on the dimly perceived person near him. He roared and lashed out, heard a metallic clinking, then seized an arm and brought the other man into his crushing embrace. He was not an ex-wrestler for nothing. He started to drag the stranger out into the street, to get a good look at him. At this point, the other man twisted suddenly, punched him in the groin, and slipped away when Genba doubled over.
Genba took a minute for the pain to ease, then he left the alley and looked up and down the street. The scene before the Sasaya was the same, and he saw no one who could have been the footpad.
He went back into the alley and searched the ground for the object that had made the clinking sound. He found it quickly near the house wall. It was not a knife but something smaller and far more wicked. Taking it out into the street, he saw it was a thin metal pin, a little less than a foot long and sharpened at one end.
A strange implement, but quite as deadly as a knife. Still, it was an unusual weapon for a footpad. Perhaps it was some sort of tool he used in his trade. Or someone else had dropped it, and they had kicked it in their struggle.