Chapter

           Six

Green ribbons waving

Become a rippling sea

Blue fish shimmer through

Misaki’s manner was distinctly warmer after my revelation. When the rain eased and we went out to the garden, she walked beside me and we chatted. I began to feel optimistic about the year ahead; if only my mistress maintained her friendly demeanour, it wouldn’t be so bad.

And then there was another change for the better. I didn’t know if Isamu had said something to him, or if he had suddenly sensed the tedium of our days himself, but one night Shimizu returned home in time for dinner — and had news for us.

‘The daimyo invited an ikebana master to hold an exhibition at his mansion last year. Now the master is giving lessons to the ladies of the domain and I’ve asked him to come here this afternoon to begin instruction with the two of you.’

The look of gratitude and relief on Misaki’s face as she thanked her husband was revealing: she had been as bored as me.

I felt a surge of excitement at the thought of learning ikebana, the art of flower arranging. I had spent my life observing flowers. The purple blaze of azaleas around the ruins of the old castle high above Tsumago or the fiery rhododendrons along the road outside the village. The sunny yellow lilies by the side of the path leading to the forest or the inky blue of the modestly downturned columbines clumped in the bracken. I might have struggled with the other duties of a lady-in-waiting, but here was something I would be good at. I imagined my father’s reaction to the idea of me doing ikebana: dumplings not flowers, he would grumble, for to his mind practical things were more important than such frivolities as art and beauty. But then, no doubt, he would consider how such an accomplishment would increase my chances of making a good marriage. Ugh, now I was thinking about Kimura’s son, the yam. I thought instead how impressed Misaki would be by my sure touch and creative arrangements. And perhaps Isamu, too . . .

We were waiting in the reception room when the master arrived, a small slender reed of a man with a longer reed for a servant. The servant carried a bucket filled with irises, the splash of colour startling in the austere room. My fingers itched to touch the cool green stems.

‘I will begin with a demonstration, hmph.’ He ended his sentence with an emphatic noise as if to underline the significance of what he had said.

As the master spoke, his assistant began to lay out the tools.

‘Today we will focus on the simplest of arrangements, using only three stems.’ He gestured to the irises. ‘The primary one we call shin, the secondary soe and the tertiary tai. These represent heaven, earth and humanity, hmph.’

This was sounding complicated.

‘Heaven is, of course, the longest stem. The shin should be at least twice the height of the vase.’

The assistant measured the stem against the vase, then held it in the bucket of water to cut it. He handed the cut flower to the master, who continued, ‘The soe is two-thirds the height of the shin, the tai one-third, hmph.’

As the master began to arrange the stems in the vase, his movements deliberate and economical, he explained the correct angles of the stems.

My mind was beginning to wander. It was so stuffy in here. Didn’t Misaki feel it? I glanced at her. She held herself perfectly still, her hands in her lap, composed and attentive. It was hard to tell what she was thinking or feeling. Was she really interested in heights and angles? But she had probably done ikebana before, I realised. It was for my benefit that the master was starting with a simple arrangement.

‘The tai connects heaven and earth, hmph.’ With a series of deft movements, he placed the stems just so, then moved away so we could see the arrangement against the white rice-paper screen. ‘The lines should be natural and graceful, attaining harmony and visual balance, hmph.’

I saw what the master intended, and I admired it: precise and elegant and restrained — and nothing like the wild, free arrangements covering the hills around my home, where the flowers mingled with the grasses. While I appreciated the master’s work, I preferred irises in the meadow; the deep blue against lush green.

‘Now it’s your turn, my ladies.’

Me, a lady!

Misaki gave me a sideways glance, the corners of her mouth twitching, as if she found the notion of me as a lady as funny as I did. I didn’t mind; there was no malice in her look. Perhaps she felt sorry for me. She had the benevolence of a true samurai lady, I decided, who took care to treat her inferiors with respect — more so than when she had thought I was closer to her rank.

The assistant placed the wooden bucket full of irises between me and Misaki.

I held one to my nose and inhaled a scent like that of the violets which scattered the forest floor in spring, then ran a finger along the frill of the petals.

Okay, enough stalling. I had to make the longest stem . . . What was it called? Heaven: the shin, that was it. I had to make it twice the height of the vase. I measured and cut, then put the shin in the vase — but it wouldn’t stay upright, and then the soe wouldn’t lean at the correct angle. Huffing in frustration, I tried bending the stems forcefully to make them stay in position.

‘Ikebana is meant to calm the mind,’ the master scolded.

‘Yes, sensei,’ I muttered.

I decided to empty the vase and start again. First the shin . . . I withdrew my hand and it stayed in position. So far so good.

I looked across at Misaki. Still serene, she made a minute adjustment to the tai, the master hmph-ing his approval.

Next, the soe. It slid sideways and knocked the shin. I hissed in annoyance. Yanking the shin back into place, I held it there while I stabbed the tai into the vase.

I heard a sound. Misaki had covered her mouth with her hands and was trying to smother her laughter. Above her hands her eyes were dancing. My frustration evaporated. I began to laugh too.

I gestured to her arrangement, a model of elegance. ‘Why are you so good at it?’

Her laughter faded. Her eyes were fixed on the petals as she said, ‘Perhaps I have some of my father’s talent.’ It was the first time she’d spoken about her family and I wanted to know more, but her face was closed now; a screen had slid shut, its panes opaque.

‘He is an ikebana master?’ I guessed.

Her brow furrowed slightly as she adjusted the angle of the tai once more by an almost imperceptible degree. She didn’t reply.

I could have cursed myself for spoiling the good mood, but then she said in a normal voice, ‘Try making a split in the stem, like sensei showed us.’

Had he shown us that? I must have drifted off.

‘Ow!’ Distracted, I had cut my finger on the sharp edge of a leaf.

‘I suspect you don’t like ikebana, Kasumi.’ There was a hint of laughter in Misaki’s voice again.

‘I thought it would be more like the flowers in the valley.’ I had to blink back tears remembering the riotous rhododendrons, red and pink, the shock of a purple azalea in the deep green of the forest. It was the surprise, the irregularity that caused delight, not manufactured nature. ‘I’ll never be able to express myself like this.’

She smiled slightly. ‘Persevere, Kasumi.’ She lifted a shoulder. ‘What else do we have to do?’ It was a startling reference to the emptiness of our days. What she said next was equally startling. ‘You must miss your home very much.’

‘I do.’

‘Me too,’ she said, so softly she could only have been talking to herself. When I’d asked her the question before she had been evasive, now she was admitting it.

Was she unhappy here? Perhaps it was natural for a new bride to miss her home. Or had she split from her family, perhaps? I remembered my earlier musings on the subject of the secret. Maybe that was it. Or maybe, I thought with a flash of insight, her father was dead. The way her mood had changed so suddenly when she mentioned him, it sounded like she was in mourning . . .

‘Has your —?’ I began, but the master spoke over the top of me.

‘Ikebana is a time for silence and contemplation, not idle chatter. Let your arrangement of the flowers express your feelings, hmph.’

I looked from the clean, graceful lines of Misaki’s arrangement to the tortured stems of my own. The contrast was clear: her feelings were perfectly controlled and mine were in disarray.

‘You have a talent for ikebana,’ the master complimented her. He looked at my arrangement as if it pained him, then decided to ignore its existence.

‘I’ll see you next week, my ladies,’ he said, bowing, then directed his assistant to pack up his tools and bucket.

When they were gone, Misaki set our two vases on top of the shelves that stood opposite the tokonoma. The petals of my arrangement seemed to have wilted under the strain. I knew how they felt. Next week would be better, I vowed. I’d ask Misaki if I could practise in the meantime with some flowers from the garden.

But despite the challenges of ikebana, my whole mood felt lighter. With our hands and minds engaged, the afternoon had passed with the swiftness of a breeze and, best of all, Misaki was opening up to me.

‘A messenger came from the master,’ Ishi told us when we went to the kitchen to fetch tea. ‘He’ll be home for dinner, and he’s bringing his nephew too.’

‘Oh, I hadn’t even thought about dinner. What do you think, Ishi? It’s been so hot.’

‘I have bonito fresh today,’ the cook offered. ‘We could have it seared.’

‘Yes, with some shiso leaves and wasabi. And we should use different dishes tonight, don’t you think? Where’s Otami? No, don’t call her, I’ll go to the storehouse myself. Come help me choose, Kasumi.’

Ishi raised her eyebrows at me, and I knew she was wondering what had made Misaki so animated.

I just shrugged and followed my mistress outside.

When Shimizu and Isamu entered the reception room that evening they went at once to the shelf to admire our flower arrangements.

‘How did you find your first ikebana lesson, Kasumi?’ asked Shimizu.

My eyes flew to Misaki in panic. I couldn’t very well say disastrous! She smiled encouragingly.

‘It was very . . . interesting, sir. The shin and the tai and the, er, angles.’

As the two men looked from one vase to the other, Misaki kept tactfully silent, so I admitted, ‘Misaki’s is to the left; the vase on the right is mine.’

I could tell Isamu was struggling to keep a straight face.

‘What an eye you have, Misaki-chan,’ Shimizu said to his wife. ‘And such grace. You have captured the perfect artistic balance, such harmony between the three elements.’ Though she ducked her head modestly, her quick smile showed how her husband’s compliment had pleased her.

‘And you, Kasumi. Your arrangement is . . .’ He gestured with his hands as if they might magically produce the appropriate words.

‘Kasumi draws inspiration from the forest,’ Misaki explained, her hand in front of her mouth to hide her smile. ‘Where the spirit of nature is wild and free.’

It was a valiant defence of my lopsided and somewhat limp effort, which looked about as wild and free as cabbage leaves in miso soup.

Shimizu looked surprised and, I thought, pleased to see his wife in such a mischievous mood. He was smiling broadly as he turned back to regard my arrangement. Far from being derided, my poor efforts were being looked on almost with approval. I could only imagine what my father would have said.

After our first ikebana lesson, Misaki began to treat me more as a companion than a servant. She still volunteered no information about herself, but she was always urging me to tell her about life in the valley, in the inn, to describe the beauty of the forest, and the days passed more quickly and pleasantly.

The rains were easing and we were able to spend more time in the garden, gathering material to practise ikebana. We had just come in from collecting willow branches by the pond one afternoon when we heard voices outside. I looked at Misaki but she had frozen in place, head cocked to one side to listen as the feet crunched over gravel, bypassing the entrance to the formal reception room and continuing on towards our quarters.

I recognised Shimizu’s voice, but the other was new to me. ‘It doesn’t sound like Isamu,’ I said, conscious of a small stab of disappointment.

‘It’s not! My husband is bringing someone home. Quick, take the branches away, put everything in order.’

‘A visitor!’ We repeated it to each other with rising excitement as she thrust the willow branches at me to take into the garden and hurried to replace our vases and scissors in the kitchen. It was a measure of how quiet our life was that the prospect of a visitor could send us squawking around the room like a couple of chickens. My father often had friends come to sit around the hearth, smoking pipes and drinking sake and complaining about the taxes demanded by the lord of Owari, but I had assumed it must be normal for a man of Shimizu’s rank to keep his family life private.

When everything was tidied away, we both went to the reception room, where I fussed around Misaki to make sure her seam was just so, that the collar of her under-kimono was showing just the right amount, that her hem fell exactly to her ankle.

‘Who could it be?’ Misaki asked, even though I was the last person in the world who would know.

‘I couldn’t say, my lady,’ I replied as the voices reached us from the entrance and we both sank to our knees.

When Lord Shimizu entered the room with a beaming man we were both sitting quietly, heads bowed.

‘Misaki, this is Kuroda Taro, an old friend of mine from the domain. We were at school together. Taro, this is Misaki and her churo, Kasumi.’

We both touched our foreheads to the floor.

‘It’s a pleasure to meet you, Taro-san,’ Misaki said. ‘Please sit and we’ll fetch some tea.’

I kept my head bowed demurely, but looked up from beneath my lashes to examine the visitor. My first impression was of a merry face.

‘Thank you, Misaki-san. I’d like that.’

I rose and followed Misaki to the kitchen, where Ishi was already spooning tea leaves into an iron pot and ladling in steaming water.

‘Put some wagashi on a plate, Kasumi.’ Ishi waved her ladle at a blue-and-white plate with painted carp swimming on its surface. ‘Taro-san has a sweet tooth like you wouldn’t believe.’

As I arranged the sweets — fashioned to look like the hydrangeas which bloomed in the rainy season, with petals made of sweet adzuki-bean paste in blue, white and purple — Misaki put two cups to match the plate on a lacquered tray.

Back in the reception room, Misaki poured tea into the cups and handed them to the men while I held out the plate of sweets.

Taro eyed them with the avarice of a greedy boy. Shimizu watched his friend indulgently, his gaze occasionally swivelling to rest with pride on his wife.

‘So you have known my husband a long time,’ Misaki prompted.

Taro finished his sweet then responded, ‘We practised swordsmanship together. It is a measure of Minoru’s compassion that I was not injured more often.’

‘You didn’t always present such an easy target as you do now,’ Shimizu said, nodding at his friend’s ample stomach.

‘True, true, I have grown soft — and large.’ He turned to Misaki with a look of mock regret. ‘While your husband works so hard to advance the interests of the daimyo and the domain, I prefer to focus on my studies.’ He bent his head to the cup of steaming tea and inhaled. ‘I see you have been buying tea from Sunsyu, old friend.’

Shimizu raised his eyebrows. ‘Impressive.’ To us he said, ‘Taro is a master of the tea ceremony.’

‘And incense discrimination,’ Taro added. ‘Don’t forget that. I have a very fine nose — and by fine I mean discriminating, not pleasing to the eye. Unless you would call the snout of a fox pleasing.’

Misaki hid her laugh behind her hand.

‘I think your lovely wife sees me as a figure of fun,’ Taro said to Shimizu, delighted.

‘I can’t imagine why,’ his friend responded dryly.

‘And you, Kasumi, do you find foxes’ snouts pleasing?’

With his rounded body, I thought he resembled a badger more than a lean fox, but I knew better than to say so. I merely replied, ‘The fox is a form of Inari, the kami of tea — it seems a very suitable snout to me.’

‘Ha!’ He gave a shout of laughter. ‘Well said. She has a clever tongue on her.’

‘She does indeed,’ said Shimizu. ‘A clever tongue and clever eyes — a good protector for my Misaki.’

‘If you believe she needs protecting,’ said Taro, in a way that suggested to me they had spoken of this before. He drained his cup, then rose to his feet. ‘Well, I won’t bore you with my company any longer.’

As we all raised our voices in protest, Taro gave Shimizu a meaningful look. ‘If my company is really not displeasing to you, perhaps next time you’ll invite me home and it won’t be necessary for me to invite myself.’

Shimizu and Misaki accompanied Taro to the gate, but I stayed where I was, thinking. So Shimizu’s old friend had had to invite himself over to meet Misaki — yet Ishi was familiar with Taro’s tastes, which suggested that he had not always been such an infrequent visitor. Why hadn’t Taro been invited over since Lord Shimizu’s marriage to Misaki? Did this have something to do with the secret I had heard them discussing on my first night in Edo? I thought it could, though I was no closer to discovering what that secret might be.