Can the bird that flies
High above me ever know
The pleasure he gives?
Father did not mention my visit to his office, much to my disappointment. I thought of it constantly, but I did not dare to speak to him about it. My silence was finally rewarded when the following week he sent a servant to call me to him, and he told me—as if it was no great thing at all—that I was to accompany him again, that very day. I was unable to hide my delight, and it seemed to me that Father was pleased with my reaction. It was difficult to tell. He was a grave, silent sort of man who wasted nothing, not even words.
As before, he left me with Tanaka-san, who seemed not at all surprised to see me.
The morning flew, and I only realized it was mid-day when, as if at a silent signal, all of the clerks put down their abacus and brushes and opened bento boxes. Suddenly, I was famished, but I had no food. It had never occurred to me to even think about food for the noontime meal. As Father had left earlier and had not returned, I realized that today there was to be no visit to a teahouse for me. My stomach grumbled rebelliously, and I sucked it in miserably, trying to hide my hunger.
By then, Tanaka-san had opened his own bento box and was poking at the contents with his chopsticks. The box was a lovely thing, sumptuously enameled, and I guessed it was very old. But it was the contents that enticed me. I stared at them, my mouth watering. It took an effort of will to tear my gaze away.
“Goodness me, but my wife must think I am a starving man,” Tanaka exclaimed. “Just look at all this food.”
I stared at him miserably, sucking in my stomach as it growled loudly.
“I really cannot eat all of this, and it would be a shame to waste it. Perhaps you would like to share it with me?”
He called to one of the messengers—the boy he had scolded on my first visit—to run and bring a pair of chopsticks. The boy glanced longingly at his own bento box but went outside nimbly and returned quickly with a plain pair of wooden chopsticks for me. I assumed he had persuaded one of the many street food vendors to part with them.
Tanaka-san said, “Now, Mi-chan, could you do me the favor of helping me eat some of this?”
I needed no urging, and between us, the bento box was empty very quickly. I thought nothing of it until the homeward journey—as before, Father put me on the saddle in front of him—when it occurred to me abruptly that Tanaka-san’s bento box had not been that full at all, and that he had fed me out of the goodness of his heart. I was deeply ashamed that the old man had gone hungry because of me. In the future, when Father decided to take me to his place of business with him, I would make sure to ask the kitchen at home to prepare me a bento box. In fact, I would ask them to prepare one for me every day. If I were at home, I would eat it there so nothing would be wasted. The thought of having a bento box of my own—even if I ate the contents alone in my own room—made me feel delightfully important and very grown-up.
I began to anticipate eagerly the gentle tap of a servant’s hand on the frame of my shoji, knowing that if the sound came before the morning meal, Father had sent the servant to tell me I was to accompany him. It was not a regular day. Sometimes it was at the beginning of the week, sometimes the end. Occasionally, a whole week went by that I did not go with him. Father worked every day—there was no day of rest for him—and it seemed natural that I should do the same. It didn’t matter to me. The time I did not spend at his place of business was dross and lay heavily upon me. Soon, I cared for nothing except my days in Edo.
I realized quickly that my presence embarrassed my brothers deeply. Although they made a point of ignoring me, occasionally a gaijin visitor would smile at me and I thought would have spoken to me if my brothers had not steered them away instantly. Did they speak to Father about my—to them, unwanted—presence? I did not know, but I rather thought they had. As I continued to be taken to Edo, it bothered me not in the least.
Tanaka-san seemed to enjoy my company. I sat at his side, my abacus ready for any instructions either he or one of the many clerks might call to me. I had quickly become so skilled on the abacus that nobody checked my calculations, something that filled me with great pride.
After a while, I found my fingers worked the beads so instinctively, I needed to use my brain less and less. So, I used my time to look around me, and to think.
Clearly, Father’s business was thriving. With the exception of my brothers, who came and went as it pleased them, all of the clerks and messengers were busy for every moment of the working day. Mealtimes were limited to the time it took to gulp down the contents of bento boxes. I watched, and the more I watched, the more I wondered.
I still had no idea at all what Father’s business actually was. Clearly, he was not a merchant. There were no signs of any sort of manufactured goods. Strangers arrived throughout the day. A very few were seen by Tanaka-san before they were passed on to senior clerks, but most of them immediately approached lesser members of staff. Occasionally, a man—generally a gaijin—was taken to see Father, and when that happened, his shoji was often closed for a long time.
I was tempted to ask Tanaka-san about the nature of Father’s business, but I was too shy and too lacking in confidence. If he had expressed astonishment that either my father or my brothers had not told me, I would have sunk into the tatami with embarrassment. So instead, I watched and wondered, and with each day I spent in Edo, I became surer of one thing: I wanted to be part of this efficient hustle and bustle. I wanted to contribute more than my brothers, who clearly cared little for the business that paid for their gambling debts and kept them in sumptuous clothes—and certainly even more sumptuous oiran.
And just as my love of my biwa had begun to wane as soon as I found it easy to play, so did the allure of my abacus begin to drop away. I had no need to think about the complex calculations I did as a matter of course. I wanted more.
I wanted something that would challenge me. And I knew exactly what that something was.
“Tanaka-san.” I took care to make my voice resemble the cooing of a dove, soft and sweet. Tanaka-san held up his finger to silence me until he had finished his calculation and then smiled at me indulgently.
“Yes, Mi-chan, what is it?”
“I have been thinking—”
His lips quirked as he tried—and failed—to hide his amusement at the idea of a young girl thinking. Fond as I had become of the old man, I had to choke down my indignation.
“I am very quick with the abacus. But it seems to me that I have to waste a great deal of the clerks’ valuable time when they have to call out to me what is wanted and then write it down for me when I have made the calculation.”
I thought I had phrased that very nicely. It was not my time that was being wasted, but the clerk’s. And the clerk was, of course, a man, and so automatically deserved my respect.
“I suppose that is so. But as you cannot read and write, there is no other option.”
Could it possibly be so very easy? I felt quite guilty about seizing my chance with the venerable clerk’s innocent words, but I did not let that stop me for a moment. I spoke quickly.
“Of course, that is so, Tanaka-san. But if somebody taught me to read and write, I would have no need to take up a clerk’s time, would I?” I went on hurriedly before he could think of an objection. “And that would save Father money. That would surely give him great pleasure.”
I was certain I was speaking the truth. I was beginning to learn that money really did matter, and that the absence of it mattered even more. Far more, I thought, than any considerations people like my mother might have about caste. I saw no reason at all to mention to Tanaka-san that I was deeply jealous of my brothers’ ability to read and write, and that I was determined to excel them both, just as I knew I was already far speedier and more accurate than they in the use of the abacus.
Tanaka-san’s voice broke into my thoughts. “But surely you will be married soon, and then what use would being able to read and write be to you?”
Naturally, he was correct. I had been betrothed when I was a child. It had come as no surprise to me that the event had occurred on my birthday. The match was an excellent one, Mother said. My future husband was the eldest son of a prosperous farmer, and only a year or two older than I was. As a landowner, my future father-in-law was of a much higher caste than my family. In society, merchants and men of business who owned no land—no matter how wealthy they were—counted for very little.
Mother obviously expected me to be delighted by the news, and I did my best to smile and appear pleased. But what does a child know of husbands and marriage? When I actually met my future husband, I was chilled with horror.
I was not left alone with him, for which I gave thanks to the gods. His mother accompanied him. All the while she was with us, her sharp eyes took in every detail of me and our house. Whether she approved of either, I had no idea.
Her son sat by her side, looking glum. I am not tall, but this boy was smaller than I was. He was…not fat, but certainly sturdy. When I watched the way he gulped his food, I could see why. Also, he ate with his mouth wide open and spoke while he was eating. He ignored me completely, speaking only to Father, and then his tone was condescending, as if he was aware of his higher status. I disliked him instantly. I knew without knowing how I knew that Father didn’t like him either, but Mother—who had come out of her apartment for the occasion—treated the boy as if he was a young lord. He reveled in her attention.
I was so naïve that when he went, I thought that would be the last time I would see him until we were married, surely many, many years in the future. And who knew what might happen before then? I could hardly believe it when he turned up again a few months later. And then again. Even worse was to come. On my thirteenth birthday—yes, yet another birthday!—I was taken to visit his parents.
It had been bad enough when Yuto—my betrothed—and his mother had visited us, but at least then I was in surroundings I was familiar with, and that was comforting. Here, I knew nothing and nobody. I felt sick with nerves.
Their house was nowhere near as grand as ours. That gave me a certain courage, and I managed to keep my head up and answer the many questions that were put to me by my future mother-in-law.
She took me aside as soon as I had taken my zori off in the entrance. I stared entreatingly at Father, but he simply nodded, so I followed Ai-san. Mother and Father were ushered into a cramped reception room by a well-dressed older man who—as he was not introduced to me—I had to assume was my prospective father-in-law.
Ai-san led me through to her apartment and kneeled on the tatami, leaving me standing uneasily in front of her.
“So, Mi-san, I am to lose my dear son Yuto to you.”
She paused, clearly expecting a response. I had no idea what was expected of me, so I took refuge in simply agreeing.
“Yes, Ai-san.”
“Yes? That is the best you can do? Are you not overwhelmed with pleasure at such a great match? I can tell you, I am not at all happy about it. My husband tells me that your father is a very rich man, but is that enough? What about the fact that your family are no better than merchants? My own family have farmed the land since time began. I was pleased to marry Hideki-san, even though I had barely met him before the marriage ceremony. And why was I pleased?” She paused, although whether to draw breath or give me a chance to answer, I had no idea. I stayed silent. “Because Hideki-san was also a farmer, that was why.”
“Yes, Ai-san,” I answered promptly. I was beginning to grasp that whatever I said would not satisfy her. I was right.
“Is that all you can say?” she demanded. I kept my eyes fixed on the tatami. “Well, I suppose you are at least polite.”
I was shocked as she reached out and fingered my kimono, rubbing the excellent silk between her fingers.
“That is expensive. Far too good to waste on a child. Your father must be wealthy to throw his money away like that. I hope you are not going to be extravagant, child.”
There was no answer to that, so I made none.
The questions went on and on for so long they gave me a headache and I was grateful when we set off for home. As usual, Father said very little, but Mother was unusually animated.
“What an excellent family! Everything done exactly as one would expect, don’t you think?” Father grunted, but Mother was not deterred. “Ai-san told me how both her family and her husband’s have been farmers for many generations. When they married, with Ai-san’s dowry, the size of their estate almost doubled. And Yuto is the eldest son. I do hope Mi realizes what a fortunate child she is.”
It seemed to worry Mother not at all that neither Father nor I made any reply.
Although I thought things with Yuto could not get any worse, I was wrong. About half a year after my visit to his family, we received an urgent message to say that Yuto was gravely ill. He had caught the speckled monster, and it was not certain if he would live or die. I am ashamed to say that I prayed to the gods that he would not survive—I was a mere child, how was I to know what a terrible thing I was asking?—but alas, the gods did not listen to me. In hindsight, I suppose that was a good thing, as in later years, no doubt my conscience would have troubled me deeply had he died.
But he did not die. He made—according to the message that finally came from his mother—a good recovery. Or so she said.
When I saw my betrothed again, I was appalled. Yuto may have recovered, but the speckled monster had done its worst to him. Never handsome, now his face was deeply pocked by the scars of the terrible disease. His skin seemed to have hundreds of fish eggs bubbling under the surface. The thought might have made me want to laugh if it hadn’t been for his eyes. They were half-closed, and it was obvious that one eye was blind. The iris was completely white, a sickening, bone-white that made an unlovely contrast to the true white of his eye.
Even Mother was lost for words for a moment, and then she tried to hide her shock by gushing out her pleasure that Yuto had been returned to health. She needn’t have bothered. He was still more interested in his food than anything else and only spoke grudgingly to her when politeness demanded it.
And I was to marry this nasty…thing? I shuddered at the thought. Then, with the resilience of the very young, I took refuge yet again in the knowledge that our wedding was many years in the future. If the gods were kind to me, who knew what might happen before then?
Tanaka’s question had brought all that back to me, and I was so lost in the past that I did not answer immediately, and he had to repeat his question, his tone brisk.
“You are betrothed, are you not?”
“Of course. But even when—” If I corrected myself firmly. “—I am a married lady, surely it will be good for me to be able to assist my husband in any way that I can?”
I seemed to have hit on the right answer. Tanaka nodded thoughtfully.
“You may be right, Mi-chan. We live in troubled times, to be sure. When I was a young man, everybody knew their place and stuck to it. Now, all is changing. And not for the better.”
I thought he must be talking about how many gaijin were in Japan now, and I nodded dutifully in agreement. I had seen them in the streets of Edo frequently.
I caught myself up hurriedly as I realized my thoughts had strayed again. Tanaka had his head to one side, clearly waiting for my answer.
“You are right, of course, Tanaka-san,” I said quickly. “So much is changing. Who can be sure of the future anymore? And that is why I want to learn to read and write. With so many changes happening, surely it would be good for me to be able to support my future husband in any way I could. I’m sure Father would be pleased as well,” I added craftily.
“Perhaps so.” Tanaka clearly liked the idea of pleasing Father.
So did I.