Chapter

           Seven

Shrilling cicadas

As the air starts to smoulder

Sound summer’s warning

As the plum rains waned and we began to feel the heat of full summer, Edo came alive with festivals — or so Isamu told us. Lord Shimizu was visiting the domain of Matsumoto, a hundred miles to the north-west, and Isamu had taken it on himself to visit us regularly in his absence.

As we sat in the coolest part of the garden one scorching afternoon, hoping to catch a wisp of breeze from the pond, Misaki asked, ‘What’s going on in the city at the moment, Isamu-san?’

‘Well, I saw the Sanno festival,’ he began, pausing to take a sip of amazake, the cool sweet rice drink that was so effective for dispelling heat fatigue. ‘It started at the Hie shrine. I swear, I’ve never seen such a procession — it was the length of your entire village, Kasumi.’

A procession as long as my village — how many people would that be? I wished I could see it with my own eyes. Sometimes it seemed that the life of a samurai lady was like that of a rock in a stream, still and quiet as the fast-moving water flowed around it. Though in a daimyo’s mansion it would be a different matter, I supposed; it couldn’t help but be more lively with hundreds of other women living there.

‘I’ll tell you what I’m really looking forward to, though,’ said Isamu, leaning forwards to accept more amazake from the jug Misaki held. ‘I can’t wait for the —’

‘The fireworks festival, of course!’ a voice cried.

We all turned to see Kuroda Taro, and by his side Lord Shimizu.

‘Minoru,’ said Misaki, happiness giving her voice the musical lilt of a blackbird. ‘You’re home.’ She bowed to him and then to Taro. ‘Come, Kasumi, we must fetch more cups.’

Still on my knees, I bowed before rising and hurrying after her, though I longed to hear about the fireworks festival.

Remembering Taro’s fondness for sweets, I set out squares of plum wine jelly, a perfect antidote to the heat with its cool translucence.

On our return, the men were in deep conversation, their heads bent together; judging by their serious expressions, it wasn’t festivals they were discussing.

When Shimizu caught sight of us he sat back abruptly and the three all seemed to make a conscious effort to resume the cheerful tone of earlier.

‘So will you be going to see the fireworks, Taro-san?’ Isamu asked.

‘As often as I can,’ said Taro. ‘There’s to be a viewing party held by Shunsho-san on the night of the first festival. It’s held by Lord Kinoyoshi every year for the senior men of the domain and their wives, but since the daimyo is currently absent, Shunsho-san, who is Lord Kinoyoshi’s most senior retainer, is hosting it. You’ll be bringing Misaki, of course,’ Taro said to his friend.

Misaki’s hand stilled momentarily in the pouring of the tea, then she continued as if she hadn’t heard.

‘I’m not sure,’ Shimizu said. ‘It’s possible my work will take me away from Edo again.’

‘Speaking of work . . .’ Isamu stood. ‘I’m on guard duty tonight, so I’d better be going.’

‘I’ll see you out,’ Misaki said. ‘Kasumi, will you bring the tray to fetch more amazake?’

As Misaki and Isamu walked back to the house, I put the empty jug on the tray along with Isamu’s cup and withdrew. I was hidden from the two men by a row of shrubs when I heard Taro say, ‘You’ll have to introduce her sometime. People are beginning to talk. They wonder if you’re keeping her a prisoner here.’

‘A prisoner? I’m protecting her — from idle gossip among other things.’

‘They also speculate that there’s something wrong with her, that you’re ashamed of her,’ Taro said carefully.

My mind went immediately to the scar on Misaki’s cheek; but that was invisible beneath her makeup, it could hardly be counted as a significant disfigurement.

‘You know I don’t believe this nonsense,’ Taro was saying. ‘I’m just telling you what is being said.’

‘I don’t care what people say. They don’t know Misaki as I do.’

‘Exactly — because you haven’t given them a chance to know her,’ Taro said. ‘But when they do meet her, they’ll discover as I have a young woman of great beauty and charm. Though the fact that you married from outside the domain has come as a big surprise, there’s no cause for shame . . .’

‘Shame?’ Shimizu’s voice was cold. ‘It never occurred to me there would be a cause for shame.’

‘Of course not.’ Taro seemed unaffected by the hauteur in his friend’s tone. ‘But we’ve known each other for a long time, Minoru. I know something is troubling you. Something more than the tragedy.’

Tragedy? I strained forwards. What tragedy?

‘I don’t know what you mean.’ Shimizu sounded defensive.

‘If you have a problem, won’t you let me help you? Is there some trouble with Misaki? Perhaps my wife —’

‘No! Say nothing to Miri. It’s just that Misaki is not . . . she’s not used to company.’

‘But surely coming from the castle at Morioka she’s used to a big busy house full of people. Yet here you have her secluded in a private house with only a single churo for company. Or — what was the word you used? — for protection. Why would you say that? Protection from whom?’

There was a long silence.

‘That’s it, isn’t it? She didn’t come from the castle, did she?’ Taro probed.

Silence.

What did he mean?

‘But how did you persuade the daimyo?’

I had really lost the thread now, but Shimizu hadn’t; he seemed to know exactly what his friend was implying.

‘I didn’t persuade him,’ he said heavily. ‘I lied to Lord Kinoyoshi, told him she came from a family well known to my own. My family has long had ties through marriage to the highest circles of the Morioka domain. He didn’t question me.’

‘Ohhhh.’ Taro let out a long breath. ‘Minoru, if this was discovered . . .’

‘I know!’ Shimizu said, clearly distressed. ‘I’ve behaved like a madman, I can’t explain it. I have always put loyalty to my lord above everything. But after . . . you know . . .’

‘I know.’

‘When I met Misaki it seemed fated. Like — like the answer to all my questions. She has given my life new meaning.’

‘I understand. You must love her very deeply. Well, she has the manners and appearance of a perfect lady. While she may not have been born a samurai, you have made her one.’

Not born a samurai?

‘But I’m afraid of exposure,’ Shimizu admitted. ‘You know that what I’ve done — marrying outside the samurai rank — is strictly forbidden. And to make matters worse, I have concealed the truth from Lord Kinoyoshi. He would be within his rights to demand my death if he knew.’

I was riveted to the spot now. I knew Misaki would be wondering what was keeping me, but I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.

‘And now that you know, old friend, my life is in your hands.’

‘I am honoured by your confidence,’ Taro was saying. ‘I will take it to the grave. Not even Miri will know.’

‘It’s a hard secret to keep,’ said Shimizu.

‘I promise you, no one will ever guess. But your behaviour is so odd that others, like me, must be wondering why you are shielding your new wife. You should bring her to the fireworks festival and let people meet her. It’s the perfect opportunity. There’ll be no chance for long conversations.’

‘You might be right.’

‘And if you ask me, a marriage such as yours is not so grievous a crime these days. Things are changing. Only in old families like ours is rank treated so seriously. In special circumstances surely a man may marry for love — and given how you have suffered . . .’ Then, as if not wanting to dwell on the topic of suffering, Taro’s tone grew hearty. ‘So bring Misaki to the festival and join us for some fun. Tell me: when did you last have fun?’

‘Fun?’ To my surprise, Shimizu laughed. ‘When have you ever known me to be interested in fun?’

‘Never. It’s always been duty first with you. That’s why you feel your offence so deeply. But there’s nothing wrong with fun, especially when things are so grim.’

Shimizu’s voice was grave again as he answered, ‘You’re right about that. I don’t like the way things are going politically. I fear that conflict is inevitable. I’m about to begin some important negotiations with other domains, and I could use your help.’

His tone was ominous as he mentioned conflict, but he was talking of politics now, and politics didn’t interest me; it was what Shimizu had revealed that occupied my mind as I returned to the house. This, I understood, was the big secret: Misaki wasn’t from a samurai family. It was unthinkable that a high-ranking retainer of a daimyo should marry a commoner. More than unthinkable: it wasn’t allowed. They had married for love, it seemed. But how had such a marriage come about? Was she from a wealthy merchant’s family, perhaps? Maybe her family had bought her a position as a lady-in-waiting for one of the noble women of the Morioka domain. I imagined myself catching the eye of some rich and powerful samurai as she had. Or such a man’s nephew . . . But Misaki was beautiful, I reminded myself, so beautiful that a man like Lord Shimizu would risk everything for her, and I was not.

I understood now why Shimizu had thought I would make a suitable companion for Misaki, despite my humble family and lack of training and accomplishments. His wife had grown up not among the wives and daughters of samurai of his domain but among the townsfolk of Morioka, far away in the north-east. They had concealed her background, and they couldn’t risk someone from Lord Shimizu’s own domain uncovering the truth; Shimizu would be ruined, and the daimyo would appear weak for allowing it — and weaker for being kept in ignorance. And if it became known that Misaki had the daughters of other retainers — girls of a higher rank — to act as her ladies-in-waiting, it would be taken as a deep insult. Not to mention the fact that such girls would be better able than I to discern Misaki’s own shortcomings as a samurai’s wife. This explained Misaki’s cold attitude to me at first: she was worried about revealing anything of herself for fear I would guess her secret. She might even have thought that I had guessed, and that I was making fun of her when I’d made such a mess of her hair that first day. When she found that I was a commoner, like her, she must have been relieved.

Misaki looked up as I entered the kitchen. ‘That jug proved difficult to fetch. Did you have to chase it all around the garden?’ It was the kind of thing Hana would have said, though Misaki was smiling to soften her words, which my sister wouldn’t have done. I must have had a strange look on my face, though, because she asked, ‘Kasumi? Are you all right? What’s wrong?’

I opened my mouth to blurt out what I knew, then stopped, suddenly unsure. Should I tell her what I’d overheard? If she’d wanted me to know, she would have told me herself. And of course she didn’t want me to know: look at how much was at stake. Lord Shimizu had, in fact, expressly told her not to reveal the truth the first night I arrived. No, I decided; I would keep my knowledge to myself.

‘Nothing’s wrong,’ I said at last. ‘I was watching a butterfly, but it turned out to be a moth.’

I hadn’t even thought about what I was saying, but as the words left my mouth I realised that was exactly what others would think if they knew the truth. But they didn’t know Misaki as I did.

‘That’s a shame,’ she said.

‘Not at all,’ I said truthfully. ‘I prefer moths.’

‘Well, come here, Moth,’ she said affectionately, ‘and take this plate of sweets. I’m sure Taro-san will have finished the first plate by now.’

Lord Shimizu ate at home that evening, but he said nothing about the invitation to the fireworks festival. Instead he recounted details from his journey, describing Matsumoto’s castle, known as ‘Crow Castle’ because it was predominantly black rather than white like most castles. He had also brought back some sweet bean-filled dumplings called oyaki for us to try, and by the time we went to bed that evening I had almost forgotten Taro’s visit.

But Taro’s arguments must have worked, because as we served Shimizu breakfast the next morning he announced that he and Misaki would attend the opening of the fireworks. I was sure he would have been as gratified as I was to see Misaki’s face light up. Was it the thrill of fireworks, or the fact that her husband was finally drawing her into his world? It felt like things would be different now, after the long dull weeks of the plum rains. There would be events to anticipate and prepare for, then to talk about afterwards. But, as I was reminded not long after Misaki was dressed, there were still things to dread, like ikebana.

We were about to go out into the garden to gather branches and flowers for that morning’s lesson when Shimizu appeared at the doorway to the kitchen. He had disappeared into the other part of the house after breakfast.

‘Misaki, would you come with me? There’s some family business I wish to discuss.’

‘Yes, of course. Wait for me, Kasumi — I won’t be long.’

I busied myself collecting the scissors and baskets and buckets we’d need, but Misaki didn’t return. I could hear the murmur of voices from the public reception room where Shimizu conducted his business.

I went into the reception room on our side of the house and ran my hands lightly over the blue-and-white bowl, very old Nabeshima ware, displayed on top of the cabinet. Misaki had told me it was part of a set and I wondered what the other pieces might look like. I opened the doors of the cabinet and kneeled to peer into the gloomy interior. I found a set of green-glazed sake cups on the top shelf and a painted fan. On the bottom shelf there was a large octagonal box. Excited, I carefully pulled it out; I had heard of such boxes but never seen one. Made of maki-e, lacquer sprinkled with gold powder, it held shells for playing kaiawase, a shell-matching game. I opened the lid and sure enough it was filled with clam shells, each one painted with a scene. Beneath this layer was a second layer of shells; each shell from the top layer would have a perfect match from the second. This must have been part of Misaki’s wedding set, I realised. The matching of the two shell halves symbolised the perfect union of marriage.

I was lifting shells from the box and examining them one by one when I noticed with a start that the voices which had been a background murmur had stopped. Then I heard Misaki calling me.

‘Coming,’ I said, putting the box back where I had found it. I would have to ask Misaki about it later; perhaps we could even play.

‘I thought you might have gone to the garden without me. I’m glad you waited; you know you can’t be trusted to select our materials yourself.’ She smiled to let me know she was teasing, though it was true; I would have unerringly selected the most crooked branches and the most headstrong flowers.

As we snipped branches of pink-flowering crepe myrtle, my thoughts returned again to the conversation I’d overheard the day before. It was strange, I reflected, how you could spend almost every hour of the day with someone and still know so little about them. And Lord Shimizu had praised my powers of observation! Well, whether she was a samurai or not, with her gentle modest nature Misaki was undoubtedly a lady.

‘Ouch!’ I had been squeezing so ferociously on the secateurs as I tried to cut a particularly thick branch that I had given myself a blood blister.

‘Oh, Kasumi, what are you doing? That branch wouldn’t even fit in a vase.’

Any efforts to turn me into a lady, however, were clearly doomed to failure.